


Raising Hell

by PoetHrotsvitha



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Evie is mostly exasperated with him, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Jacob is the Archbishop of Banterbury, Journalist!Evie, London, M/M, PrivateSecurity!Jacob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7539718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is the newspaper's duty to print the news and raise hell." - <i> Wilbur F. Storey </i><br/><br/>The words "corporate corruption" are like sweet music to Evie's ears. They represent the potential for the story of a lifetime; her editor is on board and her source is good. If it means she has to go undercover at Starrick Financial Ltd for a while to find the requisite proof, then so be it. Jacob's happy to be pulled in to help, but he mostly just wants to live up to the newfound responsibility of running Eden Security and figure out his pants-feelings for one cute and very awkward Sgt. Abberline like an adult. Easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“The executive meeting rooms are in that direction, and you’ll be expected to take refreshments down there to our clients-”

Evie lengthens her stride, trying to keep up with the brisk clip set by her guide. Wearing smart black heels seemed like a good choice this morning, but after thirty minutes on the Tube and fifteen minutes of this rapid-fire tour, she's starting to regret it. 

“- and you may be occasionally called upon to take some notes. We have designated people for that, but you will act as a back-up. I trust that you have a passable shorthand.”

The woman- Anne, did she say? Anna?- doesn’t glance back as she says this. Evie eyes the tightly swept up back of Anne-maybe-Anna’s head and gets the impression that she isn’t meant to answer.

They turn a corner and, God, more hallways. There were clearly more offices than it appeared from the front desk, though not all of them seem to be occupied. They march past rows of opaque and identical glass walled rooms, thick carpets swallowing up almost all noise.

Anne-maybe-Anna is still ploughing ahead. “-don’t misunderstand, the upper management obviously has their own personal secretarial staff, but you may be called upon to cover their duties should there be any holidays or sickness. I expect that won’t be a problem.” She rounds another corner and snaps to a stop so abruptly that Evie nearly walks into her, wobbling dangerously as she pivots backwards.

She’s resisting the urge to lean down and check her ankle when she realizes that Anne-maybe-Anna is looking at her, eyebrows raised. Oh shit, she _was_ expected to answer this time. “No, I – that is, no problem at all.”

They’re back where they started, tour obviously over. Anne-maybe-Anna gives her a tight-lipped smile and gestures towards the front desk. “You can go ahead and get started, then.”

Evie sits obediently and waits until the foyer is empty to put her head down on the desk and groan.

\---

_Starrick finance. Insider trading._

To anyone else, he would have looked like yet another much-too-old man trying his luck with a much-too-young woman at the bar. But she paid for the drinks, Topping was a friend, and his sweet nothings were anything but romantic.

She’d first met him in the men’s loos at the O2 conference centre, where he caught her in the middle of shuffling through the bin. She was slowly withdrawing her hands from the garbage, trying to get out the door before she died from humiliation, when he said “press badge, I see. Looking for evidence of heroin?”

She had a pretty good poker face. It was the natural by-product of Jacob’s endless needling. But it was a spot-on guess, and she felt her mouth drop open.

He used his thumb to point over his shoulder. “He usually stashes the evidence behind the toilet. I think you’ll find it there.”

It had been her first front-page big scoop, back when she was usually relegated to sporadic event coverage. _Porta-Party for Local Bigwig_. Granted, it had been a slow news day. And yes, it was a terrible title, but it was a trashy paper. She survived it by assuring herself that everyone needed to start somewhere.

Ever since then, Topping would occasionally pop back into her life without warning. An unidentified number would send her a text with the name of a bar, usually somewhere out near Camden, and a time, usually late. All she had to do was show up. If she did, sure enough, he would melt out of nowhere and give her the sort of insider gossip that made editors salivate.

She didn’t know where he got his info. She didn’t know why he liked her. She had initially worried that he would ask for something unsavoury in return, but he never did.

_Starrick finance. Insider trading._

The very next day, she marched into Henry’s office and demanded the resources to begin investigating. Being a much better editor than she had ever enjoyed when working for the tabloids, he rubber-stamped his approval almost immediately. He even argued on her behalf to the higher ups when it became clear that she would need to take time away to properly pursue it.

Which is how she found herself, two weeks later, applying to work as temporary front-desk cover for Starrick Financial Industries, Incorporated.

\---

Her feet are almost numb by the time she gets back to the flat. Screw feminine appeal; the office could deal with brogues tomorrow.

She can hear the familiar sounds of comic violence and rapid clicking as soon as she gets through the door, but her attention is grabbed by a delicious smell. It seems to be wafting from the three counters that the letting agency generously called “a fully equipped kitchen”.

“Jacob, did you _bake_ something?” she calls out.

The dramatic music pauses. “What?”

“That smell,” she says, drifting towards it. “I didn’t think you could manage anything harder than a ready-meal.”

He’s unruffled by her accusation, mostly because it’s true. “Agnes brought it over earlier. Apparently Bertha’s noticed that we don’t do much of a weekly shop and she’s worried that we’re starving over here.”

What nonsense, Evie thinks fondly, cutting herself a thick slice. If you had to have nosy neighbours, surely a couple of Scottish lesbians were the best possible kind.

Being a generous sort of person, she cuts a piece for Jacob as well.

When she flops onto the sofa, he’s resumed button-mashing on the controller. They eat and she watches as someone in a dark hood jumps off the side of a building and lands with a thump in a pile of hay. None of the other characters in the game appear to notice or question a person suddenly falling out of the sky.

She feels the need to point out the obvious. “Hay or not, that jump would still probably kill you, you know.”

He talks through a mouthful of currants and rum-rich sponge. “It’s a game, killjoy.” 

“Chew with your mouth closed, please.”

He ignores her. “Someone’s looking a bit ladylike today. You never wear skirts to the office, Greenie must’ve been thrilled.”

“I didn’t go to the office,” she says, feeling the tips of her ears turn pink. It had been a massive mistake to take Jacob to last year’s annual Christmas party. He took one look at her awkwardly hovering editor and hadn’t let up about it since. “Or at least, I didn’t go to _that_ office.”

He takes his eyes off the screen for long enough to frown at her.

She spears another big chunk of cake. Bertha was generous with the rum in this one, bless her. “I’ve taken a front desk job at a place called Starrick Financial. It’s in the City.”

At this, he pauses the game and his frown becomes deeper. “You’ve taken a second job? Are you…” He breaks off awkwardly and runs a hand through his hair. “I can cover the flat for a while if we need to, you know that, right?” 

The flat is, to put it generously, a dump. It’s a leftover relic from the 70’s and it looks every year of it. It has one bedroom and Jacob sleeps on the sofa; he took the spot by pointing out that he would much prefer her accidentally seeing _him_ naked to him accidentally seeing _her_. She wasn’t going to argue.

Even so, it’s in Zone 3 and it’s near the Piccadilly line. There’s a Tesco a block away and a decent pub on the corner. Ergo, it costs a small fortune. 

She waves her fork at him. “Such big-heartedness from Jacob Frye? To his sister? Alert the presses, can it be true?” He rolls his eyes and restarts the game while she snickers. “Don’t worry, it’s for a story. They’re doing something dodgy and I’m there to snoop around- the paper has given me an advance.”

He nods, vaguely interested. Everyone likes a good scandal.

She sinks back into the sofa with a groan. Her feet still hurt, her shoulders are stiff, and the day was a fast learning curve of intercom systems and scheduling software. “I don’t want to cook. Feel like ordering in some takeaway?”

“Always. Curry?”

“Deal,” she says, fumbling with her mobile. The number is saved in her favourites. Mother would be so appalled. 

\---

It’s not until they’re scooping up the remaining curry sauce with their poppadoms that she remembers to ask about his day.

“Fine,” he says with a shrug. “Overnight shift, got in around 5. Big fancy party with lots of toffs and some oil barons. They wanted full security but nothing ever happens. My team was bored stiff by 10.” He stands to collect the scattered remains of their meal. “I had to break up a fight at one point, but even that was more like corralling toddlers. Drunken toddlers.”

“Any word from Uncle George?”

Uncle George wasn’t actually their uncle, but he might as well have been. Similarly, Eden Security wasn’t actually his baby, but it was a near thing. Which is why it was a shock to everyone when he suddenly cited work stress and up and moved to Majorca.

Jacob snorts. “I’d rather that he didn’t get in touch, thanks. I appreciate that he left me in charge of the team, but the less I hear about ‘Sunny Spain’, the better it is for everyone.”

Evie looks out the window, where rain is beginning to spatter against the panes. “Fair.”

“At least security is better than CCTV duty.” He perks up. “Tomorrow should be fun. We’ve been authorized to use some new tasers for the big software expo next week, and we’ve got to learn how to use them. I’ve rented a training area in the north and everything.”

“You boys and your toys,” Evie says absently, flicking quickly through channels on the television. News, home DIY, crime drama, more home DIY, quiz, another quiz… “Business is good, though?”

“You know how it is.” He sinks back down on the sofa and snatches the remote from her hands. “Bad news for the world, good news for business. Some wanker shoots up a concert in Paris and everyone wants more security than the police can handle.” He settles on _Eight Out of Ten Cats_ and she decides she’ll allow it.

They watch Jimmy Carr make a face at the camera. She pokes him. “You’ll be careful, though, right?”

It’s her worst nightmare: a day where Jacob isn’t bored at work. It was just like him to take a job that required him to actually run _towards_ disaster as everyone else runs _away_ from it.

“Of course,” he says, ruffling her hair. “And you won’t let Starrick and his goons catch you rifling through their paperwork?”

“They’ll never even know I was there.”

“That would make you a terrible secretary.”

She kicks him lightly while he laughs at his own joke.

\---

Her next morning is less stressful, but more boring. She’s about to go over the schedule one more time, just for something to do, when her phone lights up with the words STUPID BROTHER. She frowns. He’s not usually a big one for texting. 

 

**wats the name of ur new work again**

It’s Starrick Financial UK.

Why?

**they r HUGE sponsors 4 expo im at next week**

I didn’t think they did tech, that’s weird.

**can ask around if u like**

Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.

**but u have to take over dishes this week**

You’re an ass.

And no one types like that any more, moron.

**ur just jealous**

 

“Jesus,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead. For a week’s worth of Jacob’s dishes, he had better learn something good. Her phone pings again.

 

**jealous of my l33t skillz.**

 

And just like that, she's already starting to regret giving him the go-ahead to help. 

Oh well, she thinks, pushing her phone away. What's the worst that could happen? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't painfully obvious, Jacob was playing _AC: Syndicate. ___


	2. Chapter 2

 Jacob doesn’t plan to look into the whole Starrick-expo-sponsor thing himself. That’s what he has _people_ for. As far as he’s concerned, there is literally no point in being in charge if you can’t abuse the hell out of your position every now and then. 

“Ned, my good man,” he says, poking his head into Wynert’s darkly-lit office. “Looking sharp today.”

Wynert is intently watching a glowing wall of security footage, his arms folded. “What do you want, Frye?”

“An erotic Swedish massage from Emma Watson,” Jacob replies instantly. “Also, I brought you coffee.”

Wynert extends his arm to accept the coffee without looking away from the screens. “I meant what do you want from _me_ , you twit.”

“Definitely not an erotic Swedish massage.” Jacob likes to think of Wynert as the Q to his James Bond. That is, of course, if James Bond hailed from Crawley, favoured beer, and had never seen a real tuxedo in his life. And if Q had _much_ scarier friends. “But a ‘thank you’ might be nice. Also, I’d like to find out what connection Starrick Financial Industries has with the tech expo we’re covering next week.”

That gets his attention. “Why?”

“Need-to-know basis, Wynert.”

“So you don’t have a good reason?”

“Maybe I have a very good reason that I’m just not telling you.”

Wynert raises his eyebrows. “I highly doubt it.”

“Maybe the reason is that I’m your boss, you Yankee dickhead.”

Turning back to his screens, Wynert heaves a sigh of the deeply-aggrieved. “These are abusive working conditions. I’ll file a complaint.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Wynert kicks the door shut in his face. “I brought you coffee!” Jacob yells through it.

Later that day, when Jacob and his rowdy team rock back into the office post-training exercise, he finds a post-it note with Wynert’s precise writing on his desk.

_Crawford (shit name, wow) Starrick is cousins with Pearl Attaway, head of Attaway Transport. AT is doing a highly anticipated first demonstration of prototype self-driving cars at expo. The two companies have recently been seen in business negotiations. I can dig up more but that’s the basics. Why are you looking into this?_

Jacob smiles. He should have asked Evie for two weeks of dishes.

\---

He can tell that Evie is already home from the muted sounds of the TV through the front door. She’s hunched over on the sofa, back to the door as he shuffles in.

Her voice is a bit muffled. “Cottage pie in the oven.”

Jacob freezes as he’s pulling his shoes off. Cottage pie is comfort food, Evie’s go-to in the face of adversity. It was their Mother’s recipe, and Evie only bothers with it when she’s particularly feeling the need for the reassuring embrace of childhood.

He gently edges into the room until he can see her properly. She’s got something in her lap, and when he moves a bit further he can see that she’s under a blanket, eating Ben and Jerry’s straight out of the tub. That’s bad.

She shifts a little to lift the remote and he sees that the tattered grey tracksuit has made an appearance. Fuck. This is DEFCON 1, everyone. Stay calm.

“Is everything okaaaaay…?” he asks, voice trailing off.

She stabs her spoon into the ice cream with a little more force than is probably necessary. “Starrick’s personal assistant is a _cow_ ,” she spits out. “I made a fifteen-minute mistake in the scheduling software today and she came out and fucking screamed at me in front of everyone.” She stuffs the ice cream in her mouth. “She threatened to have me _let go_ , Jacob. I’ve barely got a basic list of Starrick’s associates and I haven’t even gotten close to getting into the good stuff, and this- this _bitch_ \- is shrieking at me that I’m incompetent because I made one stupid little mistake on my third day.”

Jacob snorts. Evie is many things- nosy and tone deaf, for example- but incompetent is not one of them.

“She insulted my education and my intelligence and even accused ‘my generation’ of being lazy even though she can’t possibly be more than five years older than us, and- hang on, where are you going?”

She looks over at him as he laces his shoes back up. He slings his bag back over his shoulder and shrugs. “To assassinate her, obviously. What else am I good for?”

She blinks at him and half-smiles.

He grabs his keys. “I really think tea isn’t going to cut it, so I’m going to pop down to the off-license and get some wine before they close.”

“Cool,” she mumbles, already hunched back over her ice cream. “Something red, please.”

So much for a relaxing night, he thinks, as he trots down the stairs. Oh well. At least he’ll get some cottage pie for supper.

\---

A full plate of meat and potatoes, the rest of the ice cream, and four big glasses of Merlot later, Jacob has mostly talked Evie down from the ledge.

“Just remember,” he says, patting her reassuringly on the knee, “She’s Lucy Thorne, Personal Assistant to Some Guy, AKA Nobody. You’re Evie Frye, Intrepid Reporter and Writer Extraordinaire. She doesn’t know it but she’s completely outclassed.”  

Evie nods vaguely and hums. She looks like she’s about to fall asleep, and the credits of _Raiders of the Lost Ark_  are finally rolling. He’s seen the film so many times that he can quote the whole damned thing word for word, but it’s her favourite, so he figured he could deal with it.

His mobile buzzes. FREDDY (WITH THE HOT BUTT) is lit up across the screen.

When he swipes the alert open, some of the old messages are displayed:

 

**Shift ends at 6, where are we meeting?**

ill find u at scot yrd south exit

**Sure, see you then.**

**Hey it was nice to see you last night.**

**I’m at Pret near your office, want anything?**

**Work is terrible today. Serious asshole parade.**

**What is it about Mondays?**

Along with the newest one:

 

**Are you getting these messages?**

 

Jacob sighs and chews the inside his cheek, thumb tapping at the screen.  

Evie is looking at him curiously, so he stuffs the mobile back in his pocket for now. “Work stuff,” he mutters, hoping he sounds casual. “Now are we putting on the next one or will you let me watch the Leicester City game?”

\---

They do put on the next movie, but Indy has barely managed to parachute out of the first plane before Evie’s fallen completely asleep.

Jacob hauls her to her bed like a deadweight, tossing her on top of the covers. He even goes back to leave some water and paracetamol for when she wakes up, partly he’s a good brother, but also because she’s done this for him a frankly embarrassing number of times.  

Stripping down to his pants and dragging his duvet and pillow from the corner wardrobe, he turns out the lights and tries to close his eyes and relax.

He can’t settle, even though the neighbourhood is remarkably quiet for once. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, he finally sighs and reaches for the trousers that he chucked on the floor, digging his mobile out of the pocket. 

There are two more messages from Freddy.

 

**If you don’t want to see me that’s ok.**

**I just want to know.**

 

Jacob cringes a little. Freddy can remarkably direct over text, given how shy he is in person.  

It isn’t that Jacob doesn’t like Freddy. In fact, the problem is rather the opposite. He likes Freddy. He likes Freddy a _lot_.

They first ran into each other in neighbouring lanes in a shooting range. Jacob was initially a bit nervous when he learned that Freddy was _Sergeant_ Abberline; coppers don’t tend to look very kindly on his chosen profession. But Freddy, as it turned out, wasn’t an average cop.

After a few different sessions comparing shots, Jacob found himself asking Freddy if he wanted to grab a pint. Freddy looked awkward and surprised (Jacob would later learn that this was not personal; Freddy looked like that a _lot_ ) but said yes.

This became a regular habit until one evening, they had a few too many- or maybe just enough- and ended up snogging in an alleyway.

They started to meet up more often after that. They had coffee in some of the painfully earnest hipster cafes that seem to pop up and disappear at a furious rate in Soho. They checked out some seedy concerts and Jacob had to bully Freddy to stop him from arresting people for drug use. Freddy took him as a date to a friend’s costume party; Jacob went as Victorian Sherlock, and Freddy reduced Jacob to tears of laughter when he showed up fully decked out as an old woman.

Freddy is hilarious, in his own strange way. He’s kind and a good kisser. Even his agonizing awkwardness tickles Jacob in all the right ways.

The issue is that even though Freddy is only a few years older than Jacob, he feels like there’s a much bigger gulf in development. Freddy has a mortgage and a car. He probably knows what his credit score is. He doesn’t make out with random strangers at bars, and Jacob knows without having to ask that Freddy wants a family. It’s intimidating as fuck and it’s starting to make Jacob anxious.

He looks at the glowing screen of his mobile again. _Sry_ , he types out, _v. busy week_. It’s painfully inadequate and he knows it. He presses send anyway.

After a moment’s hesitation, he quickly types out _dinner nxt week?_ and presses send again before he can lose his nerve.

His phone buzzes almost immediately, which means that Freddy must have been waiting for a response. It makes Jacob feel like the world’s biggest asshole.

 

**Hey no problem. I understand.**

 

And again,

 

**Sure. Tuesday?**

 

 _Sounds good c u then_ , Jacob types back, and tosses his phone back on the ground with a groan.

Staring at the ceiling, he suddenly realizes that he never got a chance to tell Evie about Starrick and Attaway transport. Making a mental note to grab her before she leaves in the morning, he curls into the couch.

When he falls asleep, he dreams of convincing an embarrassed, somewhat hairy (and yet still handsome) sergeant to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It makes nothing but sense to me that Evie's favourite movie would be about someone hunting for ancient magical artifacts.


	3. Chapter 3

That last glass of wine had been a terrible mistake. The foyer of Starrick Finance has a multi-million-pound view over the Thames through gorgeous floor to ceiling windows, and all Evie wants to do is yank some drapes over the lot of it. The light is intolerable and her head won’t stop ringing.

She's halfway through the morning when a short woman stalks in, making a beeline for her desk. “I need to speak to Crawford Starrick,” she spits through a thick Irish accent. She has dark hair wrapped in braids and piercing eyes, currently narrowed in fury.

Evie suspects that this anger is meant to be intimidating, but the woman is so short that her head barely clears the top of Evie’s high desk. It sort of mitigates the effect. “Can I have your name?”

“It’s O’Dea,” she says, “Clara O’Dea. Tell him that I’m here and I have to speak with him _now_.”

Evie cautiously reaches for her scheduler. “Do you have an appointme-”

“No, I don’t have a fucking appointment, but he’ll see me.”

Somehow doubting that this is actually true, Evie dials Thorne’s number. “Hello, Miss Thorne, there is a Miss O’Dea here and she is insisting-”

“Do _not_ let her in,” Thorne immediately snaps. “Not under any circumstances. Get her to leave straightaway, and if she won’t, call security.”

Evie sets the phone back down and clears her throat. “Uh, Miss O’Dea, Mr. Starrick is currently in meetings and is not available for-”

“So the fucker won’t talk to me?” O’Dea snaps, her accent getting thicker as she gets angrier. She whips around and yells down the hallway, “you’re a thief and I’ll prove it, you uppity bastard!”

She rounds back on the desk and bangs a fist on the surface while Evie gapes at her. “I’ll go, but I’ll be back with my lawyers.” She turns to yell down the hallway again. “You’re a fuckin’ streak of piss, Starrick!”

O’Dea is three steps out of the office by the time Evie’s brain catches up with her, and she tries to maintain some decorum until she gets to the hallway, breaking out into a sprint to catch up to the tiny woman.

“Please, Miss O’Dea, wait- wait!”

Before she can argue, Evie shoves her personal card into O’Dea’s hand. It lists her name and phone number, as well as her real occupation- _reporter_. “Please call me. I think I can help you.”

Not wanting to lose the job so soon after Thorne’s latest series of threats, Evie sprints back to the office, crossing her fingers that O’Dea will follow up and deliver some dirt.  

\---

Thorne tears a strip and a half off her when Evie eventually makes it back to Starrick’s private office.

“That woman is a _lunatic_ ,” Thorne hisses, “next time, don’t even let her get through the front door.”

Evie considers pointing out that this is technically impossible, but it doesn’t seem worth the headache of arguing.

There’s a beeping noise and the light on Thorne’s intercom begins to flash. “I have to get this,” Thorne says, eyes swinging towards Starrick’s door. “Don’t move.”

She disappears into the inner office and Evie grabs her chance, shifting around to look at the top of Thorne’s desk. Her laptop is closed, and there are a series of documents and schedules piled around in a haphazard manner. There doesn’t appear to be any kind of system, which seems sloppy for an administrator.

Evie glances at Starrick’s office door and quickly begins to flip through the documents, scanning them for anything that might jump out or seem important. The majority of it is in confusing business legalese, but one word repeatedly leaps from the page: _Attaway. Attaway. Attaway_.

So the connection to the expo wasn’t just a lucky guess, Evie thinks with a smile, suppressing the urge to fist-pump. Whatever is happening with Attaway Transport seems to be at the forefront of Starrick’s business dealings at the moment. Add that Topping had been adamant that the insider trading was happening in the immediate future, this seemed to be a good bet for where to focus her investigation.

She moves to the pile closest to the phone, this one seemingly a series of copied contracts all stacked together. It appears to be an agreement to hire something called _Alhambra Security_ , which makes Evie frown. Why would an investment brokerage need to permanently hire a security firm? The building already has its own security.

Starrick’s door handle starts to turn, and Evie leaps back to the other side of the desk. She plasters her most unassuming face on as Thorne stalks back trough the door, looking like someone has given her a solid and unpleasant pinch.

“Collate these numbers,” Thorne snaps, pushing a sheaf of scribbled figures into Evie’s hands. “That will be all.”

As she heads back to the foyer, Evie feels her mobile vibrate in her pocket. She glances around to make sure that no one is watching; when she pulls it out, HENRY glows up at her from the screen.

**Meeting to discuss progress?**

Sure, when?

**Do they give you a lunch break?**

**Can meet you at corner of Cannon and Queen Victoria in ten.**

 

She decides that Thorne’s stupid paperwork can definitely wait.

\---

They find a Café Nero, where she orders a coffee strong enough to take the edge off of the hangover and a big slice of cake. To counteract Thorne’s bitterness, she tells herself.

Henry pays for them both before she can argue with him about it. Gentlemanly to a fault, she thinks, following him with a sigh. She’d be more defensive about it if she didn’t know that he makes a habit of doing that with all of his colleagues.

They find and booth and slide into the vinyl seats. He smiles at her and she feels the familiar little flutter in her stomach; it’s fairly easy to ignore in the office, but with her knees bumping against his under the table, this feels like it could be a date.

“So,” he starts, “how is it going? Have you learned anything?”

“Starrick’s assistant is a- well, she's not very nice,” Evie sighs. “She's making it hard for me to poke around.”

“Hard or impossible?”

“I'm not sure, yet. I'll keep working on it. In the meantime, I've made up a list…”

She pulls out her notebook and shows him the page where she's been dutifully noting down the individuals that come to visit Starrick for private meetings. “I think there may be a pattern, but I'm not sure yet. Attaway transport is almost definitely connected in an important way, but I can’t tell if anyone else is also involved.”

He takes the notebook and traces his finger down the list. “Some of these look familiar to me from political correspondence. Would you like me to look into it?”

“You don’t have to do that,” she says, feeling a bit flustered. “That’s not in your remit at all.”

“It would be a favour,” he says, handing the notebook back with a smile. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, uh... Then, yes, that would be very kind. Thank you.”

The problem with Henry, she thinks, is that he's polite and kind to _everyone_. From the doorman of the building to the owner of the paper, everyone gets the same patient and even-handed treatment. It makes it hard to know if you're being singled out for special attention.

Which, Evie admits, she would very much like to be.

She realizes that she's staring at the curve of his lips and snaps her eyes back to her cake. “I've been invited to a function for the firm,” she says quickly, trying to cover her wandering gaze. “Some sort of celebration for closing a big deal, all of the staff are going. It’s this Friday evening at the office.”

Henry sips his coffee. “Sounds like fun.” It’s hard to tell if he means it sincerely.

“I don't have after-hours access, so I'm going to try and use the opportunity to look around when everyone is drunk and distracted. And... I'm allowed to bring a guest,” she adds slowly.

“Oh?”

“I wondered if you would like to come.”

He nods seriously. “To help with your investigation?”

Yeah, sure, she thinks, let's go with that. “And to help me drink all of their wine.”

He chuckles. “It would be my pleasure.”

\---

“How about this one, what do you think?”

There isn't a lot in her closet that is party-appropriate. She’s dragged out the few things that might work to try and compare them, but Jacob is proving completely useless as a soundboard. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he says, barely raising his eyes from the television. “Looks great.”

The dress hasn’t been worn in years, and she’s pretty sure that the outline of her bra is visible. “Seriously?”

Jacob sighs and finally looks over properly. “Oh, Jesus, no. Sorry. No, not that one.”

She groans internally and goes back to try and find something else. “There’s definitely something going on with Attaway Transport, by the way,” she shouts from her bedroom. “So anything that you can learn about Attaway would be good to know.”

He makes a vague affirming noise from the sofa. When she comes back out in the next option, he immediately pulls a face. “ _No_ , you look like you haven’t left the house since MySpace was a thing. Why do you even own that?”

Evie snorts and stomps back into her bedroom with a stifled _fuck_.

“Why do you even care about this?” Jacob calls after her. “It’s just a dumb party, you don’t have to impress these people- wear, I don’t know, there must be a female version of the lazy dark suit and tie.” There’s a second’s pause. “Actually, is that a thing? I’ve never thought about it.”

“It’s not just-” she yells back before she catches herself, biting down on her lip.

He hears the hesitation. “It’s not just what? Not just- oh my God, Evie Frye, do you have a _date_?”

“No, it’s not a- no,” she says, doing her best to ignore him and the teasing that she knows is coming. “It’s not a date. It’s just- Henry is coming with me, and he’s my Editor, I should look professional.”

She comes back out in another dress and Jacob looks gleeful. “Oh, so _Henry_ is going, is he? That explains a lot. You definitely can’t wear that one, not nearly enough leg.”

“You’re a prat,” she sighs, raking a hand through her hair. “You’re right, none of this matters. I’m being stupid.”

“Hey, no, hey,” Jacob raises his hands. “Sorry- look, seriously, whatever you pick will be fine, okay? He clearly already likes you. I’m sure he’ll think you look very nice no matter what you decide.”

She makes a face at him. “Sensitive Jacob is weird. Stop, please.”

He snorts and goes back to the television with a shrug. “Have it your way. Seriously, though, show enough cleavage and he won’t even notice what you have on.”

“I keep telling you that that's not the goal here- although, even if it was, I worry that you think that's reassuring.”

“You know me; I live to help.”

She heaves a deep sigh and rolls her eyes, which just makes him laugh.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos. :) Every single one makes me smile.


	4. Chapter 4

The expo is a noisy affair, packed full of people poking at futuristic gadgets and exchanging business cards. Jacob is in the middle of trying to explain that _technically_ being staff does _not_ mean that he knows where every display is- nor does it obligate him to give directions to confused Germans- when there's a crackle over his radio.

“This is team three. Rook, do you copy?” There's a pause of static before the voice adds, “that's you, boss.”

Jacob waves the Germans away and unclips his radio from his vest. “I thought I said my code name was Alpha Destroyer.”

He waits and the response comes with muffled giggles in the background. “Yesterday you said that if you couldn't fit the whole beef sandwich in your mouth, we got to pick the code names.”

“Yeah, and I was _maybe_ two centimetres short.”

“A bet’s a bet, boss-man. You're the Rook now.”

He squints at his radio. “Why the fuck would you pick that, anyway?”

“Because you eat garbage and can't sing worth shit.”

“Fuck off,” Jacob says affectionately. “What do you want?”

“Can you come to the north west corner of the building?”

When he finds them, they're all clustered around something that he can't see. He snaps his fingers to get their attention. “Is this another piece of unattended luggage? Because I swear to God, if we lock everything down and it turns out to be a diaper bag again-”

Lizzie turns toward him with a raised eyebrow. “No, nothing like that.” She holds out a small card to Jacob, and he takes it and flips it over with a frown.

 

**Maxwell Roth**

**Alhambra Security Services UK**

**08793 776948**

 

Jacob raises an eyebrow. “What is this?”

Adam looks mutinous. “Some guy trying to poach. He's been working around the building, asking if we want better hours or pay.” He sticks his thumb over his shoulder. “I've checked with team two, he just approached them too.”

“Nice,” Jacob murmurs. “Mind if I hang onto this?”

Lizzie shrugs and nods. “I was just going to bin it.”

They all stare at the card in his hand for two beats before Jacob flaps his hands at them. “Tea break’s over- you lot get back to work!”

\---

He eventually finds Attaway in one of the back rooms of the expo hall, sitting alone at a table scattered with schematics. “Miss Attaway?”

“Yes, I--” she suddenly breaks off when she sees him in the doorway. “Oh, splendid. You’re here to egg me.”

There’s a weird silence. “I-- what?”

“No matter. I hope you _eco-crusaders_ understand that the occasional humiliation is not enough to stop the expansion of fracking, no matter how many hits it gets on YouTube.”

Jacob looks down at his vest to make sure that the big tag reading SECURITY is still taped to his chest. “I’m not here to egg you.”

“Oh.” She tilts her head back and eyes him critically. “Then why are you here?”

“We’ve had some security threats.” There’s been nothing of the sort, of course, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I wanted you to be aware that I’m here in the event of any incidents. That would, uh, include any eggings.”  

“Well, in that case.” Her hostility eases, even if the general archness doesn’t, and a corner of her mouth tilts. “I’m very pleased to see you.”

He puts a hand out. “Jacob Frye, at your service.”

When she stands to shake it, he notes that she’s a bit shorter than him, even with the heels and the pile of hair on top of her head. “Truer words were never spoken,” she says, holding his hand for a quite a bit longer than necessary. “I feel safer already.”

He can’t help but grin at her, responding to the confidence that rolls off of her in waves. She’s a bit older than what he usually goes for, but more than beautiful enough to make him willing to step out of his comfort zone.

_Hello, Jacob_ , a voice says in the back of his head. It sounds suspiciously like Evie. _Try not to be an idiot_. Definitely Evie. _You’re not actually required to flirt with everyone who makes a move on you._

He argues with the voice. He was meant to investigate, and investigating meant getting to know someone, right? This was in the realm of getting to know someone.

_I’m so proud. Jacob Frye, the honeypot_.

He shakes himself a little and drops Attaway’s hand. “Feel free to call on me if you need anything.”

“Oh, you are _too_ adorable.” She reaches up and pats him on the cheek. “And don’t worry. I will.”

\---

On the third day of the conference, Jacob is in the middle of lecturing some teenagers for messing about with the tech on display when his radio fuzzes again. “Team two to Rook, do you copy?”

He rolls his eyes and presses his finger to the receiver. “Seriously, you assholes, stop calling me that. What do you want?”

“There’s an ‘Attaway’ looking for you near the south entrance.”

When Jacob finds her, she simply announces that she wants him to keep an eye on a meeting happening in an upstairs office.

This sounds a lot like the spying that Evie wanted, so he follows her. She leads him to a small empty room and sits at the only table, gesturing for him to stand next to her. He's about to ask if this was some elaborate ruse to get him alone when a man frantically bursts through the door. “ _You_ ,” he hisses, pointing a shaking finger at Attaway.

“Millner,” she says pleasantly. “I heard you were here looking for me.”

“You lying, manipulative, bit--”

“Let’s be civil, now,” Attway says smoothly, raising her hand. She gestures lightly at Jacob behind her. “We have company.”

Millner turns a delicate shade of purple and shoots Jacob a wary look. “I don’t give a shit about your hired goons. I saw your presentation, and I swear to God, you can’t just steal my technology and then--”

Attaway twirls a pen in her fingers, apparently entirely unfazed by the accusation. “You were under contract, Millner.” She sounds bored, as if all of this is beneath her attention. “If you’d read the fine print, none of this would be a surprise. We’ve gone over this, and you’re becoming _very_ tedious. Honestly, it’s no wonder that your wife ran off.”

Something in the obviously fragile Millner snaps. He lunges towards Attaway, hands outstretched, and Jacob moves instinctively; he simply puts an arm out, planting a foot and tensing his shoulder and back. Already in motion, Millner barrels into Jacob’s hand, his feet knocked out from underneath him with an ‘oof!’ upon impact.

Jacob tries to lean down to help Millner, but he’s already scrambling backwards, almost looking like he might cry. “I’m going to get you for this, Attaway, I swear, I will--”

“Yes, yes,” Attaway says, “I’m very frightened. Goodbye, Millner and good day. Please don’t bother me again, or maybe I’ll send Jacob here to pay you a visit.”

Jacob turns to her in surprise as Millner sprints towards the door, scraping himself out of the room. “Pay him a visit? Beg pardon?”

“Anything I needed, you said.” She cocks her head and pushes out of her chair. “That was masterful, by the way.”

He’s trying to think of something witty to say when she steps a little closer and pulls him down for a kiss.

Ignoring the _I thought you quite liked that nice sergeant, Jacob, must you insist on screwing that up_ for a combination of thoughts that go something like ‘I am the BEST spy’ and ‘I wonder if those are implants or real boobs’, he leans into the kiss and deepens it.

Something like 75% of his brain is giving him the thumbs up. And if he’s honest, that’s actually still doing pretty well on the impulsive-decisions-scale of his life, given that he was once slapped with a public indecency charge for mooning a bus full of highly amused (and very drunk) American tourists in Piccadilly.

When she pulls away, it's with a full smirk. “You're lucky I like you. I could make you lose your contract for that.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I didn't think I was the driving force there.”

When she grins, it's feral. “Let’s say I have a thing for dangerous men.”

“So do you kiss all of your hired muscle?”

“Only the handsome ones. Do you kiss all of your bosses?”

“Depends on the day. You’re lucky I like you.”

She snorts and pats him absentmindedly on the chest, eyes back on the door where Millner left. This seems to be a dismissal, so he turns to go, and he only jumps a little bit when she lands an unexpected open handed smack on his butt as he leaves.

He goes back to his patrolling, and the puff in his chest lasts until his mobile vibrates with a message from FREDDY (WITH THE HOT BUTT). It’s about their dinner reservations later that night.

Jacob deflates like a poked balloon. _I told you_ , that irritating sensible voice in his head sighs.

\---

It’s just a matter of honesty, Jacob tells himself, drumming his fingers awkwardly on the wooden table. He’s arrived at the restaurant early, determined to get settled and prepare himself for this upcoming exchange, and he’s already chugged back a beer for confidence.

He reminds himself for the 193rd time that they had never agreed to be exclusive. And besides, it was just a little making out. It was for a good cause (sort of). He just needed to explain, and it would all be fine.

When Freddy arrives, weaving through crowded tables, Jacob feels the familiar little lurch in his stomach.

“’Lo,” Freddy says with a smile, settling in. “It’s nice to see you.”

Jacob gives him a weak smile. “You too.”

Opening the menu, Freddy lowers his eyes to the gastropub options. “How are things?”

He takes a deep breath. Okay, Jacob, he thinks, you can do this. Smooth and casual. Just be chill. “So-- so I sort of made out with someone today, but not for very long and there was only a bit of tongue, and anyway it also kind of wasn’t my fault because she kissed me first, and I’m only doing the whole thing for Evie because she asked me to-- to get to know the woman, I mean, because she might be breaking the law with Evie’s new fake-job’s boss. Not to kiss her. Evie didn’t ask me to do that. That just happened.”

_Nailed it._

Freddy blinks at him. “What?”

“And uh, I wanted to tell you because we never really talked about whether or not we were being exclusive or, whatever, and I kind of don’t really know if I’m ready for that anyway, and I didn’t mean to make out with her, or uh, not like that, but I’ve been kind of stressed about the whole just ‘not seeing other people’ thing anyway--” Oh God, save me from myself, a voice in the back of his head wails.

Freddy folds his menu shut and looks pained. “I’m sorry, what?”

“-- It’s just that, you know, I haven’t done anything serious in a while” – _ever_ – “and I don’t know what that would look like, and--”

Freddy holds up a hand and stems the flow of words from Jacob’s mouth, much to Jacob’s relief. “Is this why you haven’t been returning my messages?”

“What?”

“My messages. Which you’ve been ignoring. Is it because you were worried about being exclusive?”

Jacob opens his mouth and closes it again, feeling stupid. Because it sounds stupid, now that it’s been said out loud.

Freddy sighs and massages his temples. “Why didn’t you just tell me? And I mean-- I'm confused about whatever this kissing thing is, but it sounds like you can explain that, if I’m understanding you correctly-- but I worried all week, Jacob. You disappeared so suddenly and I thought I’d done something. I came here tonight ready to ask if you didn’t want to be with me any more.”

Freddy looks miserable, and Jacob feels like the world’s biggest idiot. “What? No, of course that’s not--”

“Then what was I supposed to think?”

Jacob swallows, trying to figure out how to say _I’m sorry, it’s just that you have your shit so together and you’re so great and I knew I was going to fuck this up and I didn’t mean to,_ and instead just mumbles “I don’t know.”

They struggle through dinner. Jacob manages to explain the situation with Evie and Attaway, and Freddy nods quietly through the whole thing. They talk about football and work and nothing at all, and through all of it, Freddy mostly looks quietly sad. Jacob, for his part, spends his time wishing that the floor would open and swallow his stupid self up without making a sound.

When they part ways, it’s without a kiss, and Jacob watches Freddy leave with a low knot in his stomach.

Later, lulled by the gentle rocking of the Tube on his way home, he can’t help but find it ironic that he had been ready to admit that he’d fucked up- only to discover that he had been feeling bad about the wrong mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am all about Jacob gettin' it on with the dudes, but I am also about him enjoying some time with the ladies. I mostly just think of him as an equal-opportunity sort of flirt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoooo content warning for smut, skip from- from, well, the start will be pretty obvious, but it's roughly 3/4 of the way through- to the end of the chapter.

 

When Clara O’Dea follows up, it's to invite her to a small pub where they take a corner table.

She starts by apologizing. “I didn't mean to lose my temper at you, back at the office. It's hardly as though the person at the front desk is responsible for having a psychopath for a boss.”

Evie shrugs it off. “Consider yourself more than forgiven if you can tell me something that might make for a good story.”

Clara’s mouth settles into a grim line. “I don’t know if you can call the destruction of my life’s work a good story, but I guess it depends on who’s doing the telling.” She takes a long swig of her drink. “It’s a short story, anyway.”

She’s not wrong. In essence, Clara was the founder of a non-profit called _Whitechapel Children_ , a group dedicated to helping orphaned children from war-torn areas successfully apply for refugee status in the UK.

“He promised desperately necessary injections of money,” she says bitterly, as Evie jots down notes. “But as soon as that shit was on the board, things began to turn upside down. I found out that some of the children’s documentation was being forged, that my people on location were offering to make an application for anyone with enough money. Including children of suspected war criminals. We had gotten fairly big by then and I wasn’t personally overseeing things any more, we had lots of solicitors on retainer and the board was gaining more and more control. People slowly stopped telling me things or talking to me. And then, one day, I get to work and discover that the board has unanimously voted that I should step down as head of the organization.”

She shoots a dark look at Evie and stabs the air with her finger. “These were good people, not the kind that would just roll over for greed. I think he’s been threatening them, but whenever I try and follow up, I just get stonewalled. And then I get a phone call from someone called _Maxwell Roth_ , who tells me to stop looking into things or something _dangerous_ is going to happen to me.”

Evie looks up and raises her eyebrows Clara just chuckles darkly. “Fucker. I’ve been in war-zones, like this is going to stop me.”

Really, Topping, Evie thinks, dutifully scratching all of this out in her shorthand. I’m starting to think Insider Trading might be the very least of the problems going on here.

\---

The party at the office is just as awkward as she feared. But, thankfully, with Henry at her side and a full glass of wine, she has every expectation that it should go by quickly. They’re able to mostly ignore the rest of the room, drifting along, listening to other conversations.

It’s how she catches the words ‘Eden Security’ being said by a woman with a pile of red hair on her head. Evie almost thinks that she must have misheard when it’s followed by ‘that Frye boy’.

Her fingers tighten like a vice around Henry’s arm, and she steers them towards that side of the room. Starrick is talking to a woman, and when she turns slightly, Evie recognizes the face that smiles out from the homepage of Attaway Transport. They’re talking to a thin man, tall and hawkish, who is hunched over his drink.

“I kissed him the other day, you know,” Attaway says, voice amused.

Evie curses inwardly and Henry shoots her a sympathetic look. He’s sat across her for enough after-work drinks to know the catalogue of worries that she carries around about her brother.

Starrick splutters out an indignant “I beg your pardon,” while hawk-man looks delighted.

“Poor thing was happy like a puppy,” she purrs, and Evie feels her hackles raise.

Starrick huffs, clearly irritated. “I’ll never understand your reasoning, Pearl.” 

“I did it just to vex you both.” She traces a finger down the hawkish man’s cheek. “I know you've been circling his employees, Roth darling. I recognized your Lewis at the conference. What are you playing at?”

Roth chuckles. “None of your business, my dear.”

Evie’s pulse is pounding in her ears. _Roth_. This has to be the same person that Clara had spoken about, it was too strange for it to be a coincidence.

“Well if he survives the coup, send him my way, would you? I'm sure I can find a use for him.”

Roth just laughs, and Evie is desperate to learn more when someone from accounting sidles up to ask about Starrick’s recent trip to Greece. The conversation then drifts to morning traffic, leaving Evie with grinding teeth and _several_ new things added to the list of problems that she's going to need to deal with later.

\---

They wait for a good two hours to make sure that everyone is deep in their cups before they sneak into the hallway through a side door.

Thorne was busy falling over herself after a few glasses of sherry, and it made it easy for Evie to grab Starrick’s office key from her pocket. She pulls Henry in and quickly shuts the door behind her, leaving the key in the door- with any luck, it will look like Thorne herself left it there by mistake.

They push into Starrick’s inner office and Evie immediately begins to poke around.

Henry keeps glancing at the door. “What are we looking for?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Evie says, opening one of the desk drawers at random and beginning to flip through the documents. “Patterns, really. Anything to do with Attaway transport.”

There it is again, mentions of _Attaway_ , this time accompanied with _Roth_ and _Alhambra Security_. Evie frowns when she spots paperwork that looks to be government issue, maybe some kind of contract. There are words like _transport negotiations_ and _international expansion_ , and she quickly takes out her mobile and snaps a photo so that she can take a better look later.

She’s about to ask if Henry has found anything when there’s the distinct sound of a door opening and footsteps in the next room.

“Shit,” she hisses, quickly shutting the drawer and taking the two long strides across the room to Henry. He manages one adorable look of utter confusion before she frantically presses her lips to his, tangling her hands into his long hair. She expects him to stiffen, maybe to push her away; she’s keeping half an eye on the door so she can stop him from sputtering before anyone suspects that this is more than a drunken couple looking for a private corner to shag.

What she doesn't expect is for him to nearly knock her over in his enthusiasm to kiss her back. She staggers half a step backwards until she's pinned up against the cabinets, nearly squeaking as he slips his tongue between her lips. He tastes like sharp red wine and something sweet that she can't name, and his hair is beautifully soft under her fingers. His hands slide lower and she feels a pooling heat in her stomach, a twitch of electricity in her toes. He smells awfully nice, like some sort of cologne, and maybe if she just pushed herself a little bit closer-

“You kids having fun?”

Oh, of course, she thinks in an awkward muddle, the opening door. That was why she'd kissed him. The other person. Yes. They break awkwardly apart and she sees Maxwell Roth standing in the frame, his eyebrows pointedly raised.

Evie coughs and steps away from Henry, who is frozen on the spot. Trying to subtly push the hem of her skirt down, she sneaks a glance up at him; he looks like someone has announced an early Christmas and then knocked him on the back of the head. He's clearly not going to be any help.

She swallows and tries a nervous smile. “The, uh, the door was open-”

Roth’s smiling as well, but nothing about it is friendly. It’s predatory and feral, and it makes her skin crawl. “ _So_ sorry, but you'll have to take it elsewhere.” He gestures outwards.

Wanting to put as much distance between her and Roth as possible, Evie grabs Henry’s hand and drags him into the hallway. Head spinning with _Starrick Finance_ and _Attaway_ and _Whitechapel Children_  and _Alhambra Security_ , she suddenly can’t stand the idea of forcing small-talk with these people for even another minute. Instead she pulls Henry along until they're out of the office entirely, heading for the exit. When they get to the lifts, they're forced to wait as the numbers on the screen steadily tick upwards. The uncomfortable silence swells between them.  

“Well,” she starts hesitantly, reaching out and fixing his tie. “So much for that plan. Sorry, by the way, for springing that on you.”

The tips of his ears are still red. “Please, uh- please don't apologize. There is nothing to… That, uh…” He trails off and starts examining his shoes with an intense stare. “What happens now?”

The lift finally arrives and she punches the button for the ground floor and takes a deep breath. “Well, the gentlemanly thing would be to see me home safely.”

He clears his throat. “I would like that. I would like that very much.”

\---

They barely make it through the door of her flat before she’s trying to take his trousers off.

She knows that Jacob has a night shift, thank _God_ , so that's one less thing to worry about. Maybe she should send him a warning text or something- but then Henry is pulling her top off over her head and she's stumblingly guiding him to her bedroom, and she's finished with thinking about anything but the way that his arms are just as defined as she’d always suspected they were under his professional starched shirts. God, how long has she been thinking about this?

Henry is working kisses down her neck and chest as they stagger into her room and she kicks the door shut and somehow shucks her shoes off, moaning as he rucks her skirt up around her waist. She can feel him straining against his pants now, pressing against her hip, his breathing turning ragged as she wriggles out of her bra.

“Evie,” he breathes out, and something in her brain dimly registers that it’s the first time that he’s called her by her first name. For years, she’s been asking him to move past the formal “Miss Frye,” but he always smiled politely and insisted. The change spreads a happy and tingly feeling throughout her brain, and she’s seized by the intense urge to make him say it over and over.

His hands are hesitating at the hem of her knickers and she manages a strangled “ _please_ ,” which turns out to be all of the encouragement he needs. She's already wet enough that he slides one finger in easily, and then another, and with his lips hot on her neck and his fingers curving it's delicious and overdue and perfect and yet somehow not enough all at once.

She stills for a moment and feels a blush creep up on her face. “Do you- uh, do you have a condom?”

For one moment she thinks that he's going to say he doesn't, which means entertaining the horrifying possibility of having to ask Jacob if he keeps any around the house. Not having sex would actually be preferable, now that she’s thinking about it, even if she _has_ been waiting for this for far too long and there’s a possibility that it won’t happen again. But instead Henry is nodding and reaching for the wallet tossed aside on the floor, and she sends a quiet thank you up to any guardian angel that she might have watching over her.

He comes back up and kisses her while she helps him roll it on- if shaking her fluttering hands at him and moaning for him to hurry up can be counted as helping- before she drags him backwards onto her bed. Pulling him in for another kiss and wrapping her legs around his waist, she rides another rush of desire and longing as he pushes into her and lets out the groan of a long-parched man finally reaching water.

A distant part of her brain can tell that she's babbling. It’s embarrassingly incoherent, mostly saying his name over and over along with a long strings of profanities. But her fingers are curling in the sheets, and it's been a while since she's done this and even longer since she's done it with someone who feels so _good_ , and all she wants is for him to keep going, to give more, harder, faster.

He’s so close to hitting that delicious and electric spot inside her and she shifts a little, trying to lift herself up higher; he notices (because of course he does, that distant part of her brain notes approvingly) and shifts his hips a little lower until she’s keening, the sensation almost too overwhelming. He dips a hand slowly between her legs, a little uncertain, but when she’s this turned on it turns out that she doesn’t need a lot of help. In what might have been forever but feels like no time at all, the orgasm hits her like a firework, curling her toes, sliding through her spine like a raging current that sweeps up everything in its wake.

It apparently sweeps up Henry as well, because his movements become uneven and his fingers tighten on her arms. She holds him through it as he moans, shuddering, and pulls him down for a long kiss before she lets him roll off her.

She lies there for a moment, whole body aching pleasantly, before she realizes with a tinge of embarrassment that her skirt is still rucked up around her waist. Henry has flung an arm over her stomach and is face down next to her, giving her a nice view of a muscled bum. He must work out, she thinks, with a twitch of a smile. Or maybe it's all that cycling.

“So, uh…” she gives him a poke in the shoulder. “Was that all right, then?”

“Miss Fr- Evie,” he mumbles into the mattress, “I have daydreamed about that for _years_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know Henry cycles to and from work, probably in dorky bike shorts. He's environmentally conscious that way.


	6. Chapter 6

**FREDDY (WITH THE HOT BUTT)**

hey

have i said how sry i am

bc im super sry

made me think of u: [click me](http://poethrotsvitha.tumblr.com/post/148070701100/jacob-from-now-on-we-will-be-using-code-names\))

Wynert being real twat 2day

drinks wed nite?

**Hey. Sorry for not responding**

i dont mind

**I've been thinking about what you said last night**

**Maybe things are going a bit too fast**

oh

**Perhaps we should take a short break?**

oh

ok

**Just need some time to think**

sure watever u need

 

Jacob stares at his mobile and has to resist the urge to fling it against the nearest wall. Fucking perfect, he thinks. Just fucking perfect.

\---

It's well past seven in the morning when he's finally able to leave a terrible shift and drag his tired feet home. All he wants is to do brush his teeth and fall on the sofa; sleeping might let him forget Freddy’s sad face, and he needs a break from that image in a real and meaningful way.

But when he walks in, Henry Green is sitting at the kitchen table.

Jacob’s brain takes a few seconds to tick this over. “Greenie? Why are you here so earl…” Then he spots Evie in the kitchen, wearing her robe and a bright red face, and it all slots together. “Oh-- oh-ho. Oh- _ho_.”

She covers her face with a hand. “Jacob, please don't.”

“Well done _,_ you two! It's about bloody time.” He claps Henry on the shoulder. “So was it- actually, oh my God, ew, don't tell me anything, la la la, gross.”

Henry looks torn between being thrilled and embarrassed. It’s disarmingly sweet, and Jacob feels the deeply seated urge to taunt something so pure kick into high gear.

He slides into the chair beside Henry and throws his arm around Henry’s shoulder, leaning in with a grin. “So what d’you say, Greenie? You've tried out one Frye, ready for another? I’m ever so much more adventurous than she is.”

Henry's face flames into a brilliant shade of magenta and Jacob cackles, quickly pulling out his mobile to document it. There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye and he lurches back just in time to avoid the spatula that Evie whips at his head, her aim and precision deadly. It clatters to the ground and she picks up their egg-timer, ready to throw again.

“Fine, fine,” Jacob yells, raising his hands in surrender, still laughing. “Seriously, though, this is excellent.” It’s good that someone is happy in love, anyway. He claps Henry on the shoulder again and staggers away towards the shower. He really does need to clean up and get some sleep.

Even with the door closed behind him, he hears Evie say “don’t worry about him, Henry. He’s an idiot.”

Henry makes a relieved noise.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continues, “he did steal a boyfriend from me once back in secondary, but I know where he sleeps.”

\---

When he eventually wakes up, the afternoon sun slanting through the windows, Jacob shuffles off of the sofa and slaps a piece of paper down on the dining room table. After staring at it with a frown for a few minutes, he takes a pen and carefully begins to write. 

 

Things That Freddy Likes, One Of Which I Can Hopefully Use To Win Him Back:

 

  * West Ham United
  * Mint Aero bars
  * Blowjobs
  * Compact semi-automatic Smith & Wesson .45
  * The Great British Bake-Off
  * Soft socks
  * London Porter Beer
  * Things that smell like cinnamon???
  * Lemon iced lollies
  * Catching bad guys
  * Cats (the musical, not the animal, allergic to the animal)
  * Australia



 

He sighs and leans back in his chair. Beer and candy are unimaginative and boring. He can hardly get a Smith & Wesson to Freddy without breaking about a million laws, which Freddy would definitely dislike. He can’t properly afford tickets to _Cats_ or the next West Ham United game, let alone Australia. The Great British Bake-Off would be difficult to incorporate short of abducting Mary Berry, which seems overly complicated and is probably a bad idea anyway.

He considers the blowjob option for a while. For longer than is strictly necessary, probably, mostly because it lends itself to some nice daydreams. But in the end, he admits to himself that it would be tricky to find the right amount of privacy for a surprise blowjob and if there’s something that Freddy hates more than anything in the world, it’s the potential for being embarrassed in public (which is unfortunate, given Jacob’s propensity for embarrassing him). Best to not start with that.

The list is still on the table when Evie clicks through the door, and Jacob quickly stuffs it into his pocket before shooting her a bright smile. “Good day?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “We need to talk.”

“Uh-oh. Is this about Greenie? I promise that I’m not _actually_ going to-” She settles down across from him, and he trails off when he spots the serious look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Why is Pearl Attaway bragging about kissing you?”

Of all the things that he might have expected, that wasn’t even on the list. “I beg your- what? Seriously? Kissing and telling is so tacky.”

“This is serious, Jacob. She was bragging to my boss and to someone called Maxwell Roth. Does the name ring a bell?”

It does, somewhere far off in the corner of Jacob’s brain, and he holds a finger up to Evie while he returns to the sofa and digs through his things. Crumpled in the pocket of his jacket, he finds the old business card and hands it to her. “I know he’s been trying to recruit some of my staff.”

Evie smooths out the card. “She referenced him running some kind of coup of Eden. Why would he want the firm? Why would he want your staff?”

“Search me.”

“I think it’s related to the collaboration of Starrick and Attaway somehow, because it all seems to lead back to that, but I can’t figure out how.” She sets her head down on the table and groans, a feeble sound. “I’ve been working at this for far too long to not have any proper leads, but I feel like everything is just out of reach. It’s definitely corruption of some kind, and there’s money involved somehow, and I think there’s a charity for refugees and moving children involved in some way, and I just _know_ that it’s all completely illegal at the root of it…”

She’s still talking, but Jacob isn’t listening any more. _Illegal_. Starrick is doing something illegal, of course, and so is this Roth character, and that’s why Evie is investigating them. He had always listened when she talked about it before, of course. And he had tried to help with Attaway. But it had really been more of a half-hearted-brother-helping-annoying-sister-so-she-stops-talking-about-this sort of thing.

He pulls out his list discreetly under the table and opens it, ignoring Evie’s rambling. And there it is, near the bottom.

_Catching bad guys._

A big gift. Something spectacular. 

He interrupts Evie’s flow of thought to grip her hand, so forcefully that she looks up in surprise. “It’s your lucky day,” he says confidently. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this for you, because I’m the best brother in the world. You sit tight. I’m going to figure out how Roth is connected.” He’s already tugging his coat on and reaching for his shoes while she gapes at him. “Us Fryes, we’ve got this in the bag. You wait and see.”

“What? Huh? Jacob, what-”

“Don’t wait up!” he shouts, racing out the door.

\---

There were some raised eyebrows when George left Jacob in charge of Eden Security, and Jacob knows it. He’s young, and going purely by experience, there were lots of better candidates around.

But Jacob also knows that George left him the job for a good reason. A simple reason, as well.

Jacob is damned good at his job.

It takes an hour to find Roth’s home address (forty-five minutes of that time being the process of shaking Wynert awake and ignoring his death threats). In another hour, Jacob obtains a working knowledge of Alhambra security – the official front, which is security detail and monitoring, and the real business, which mostly deals in protection rackets and drug trade.

It’s almost supper time when Jacob is confidently knocking on Roth’s door, smiling widely when a trim man in a suit opens the door.

“Cheers,” Jacob starts. “I’m here to see a Mr. Roth.”

“May I ask who to announce?”

“Jacob Frye.”

The man raises an eyebrow and disappears down the hallway, leaving Jacob to shake the damp off of his coat. The whole place is decorated in a Colonial era England vibe, with dark wood panelling and maps on the walls.

Re-emerging from the end of the hall, the man intones, “Mr. Roth will see you. This way,” beckoning Jacob down a corridor.

The office is as fancy as the hallway, and when Roth holds out his hand to give Jacob’s a firm shake, Jacob takes the chance to give his most charming smile.

“You’re an honoured guest,” Roth starts, his voice somehow raspy and filled with energy all at once. “Come, sit.”

They settle down in two plush arm chairs, the wood groaning a little under Jacob’s weight.

Roth leans back and regards Jacob with a tilted head. “It’s good to finally meet you, face to face. I’ve had my eye on you for some time.”

“Should’ve come said hello directly, then.”

“But where would be the fun in that, my boy?” Roth cracks a grin. “Surprise is the spice of life. And besides, I knew you’d come to me, eventually.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, thrown into shadow when a log in the fancy fireplace suddenly crumbles with a crash of sparks. Jacob can see that Roth is practically vibrating with a manic energy, almost a hunger, and it’s accompanied by a look that he recognizes all too well.

“Well,” Jacob says, “you were right, and I’m here now. Care to tell me why you're so interested in my business?"

Roth chuckles. "Not particularly, no." 

"Pity. Either way, how do you feel about easing up on trying to recruit my staff from under me? It's not going to work, anyway.”

Nodding slowly, Roth folds his hands together. "You do seem to have an admirably loyal workforce." 

“Besides,” Jacob adds, leaning forward onto his knees so that his hands are a hair’s breadth from Roth’s legs. “I have a much better idea.”

“Oh?” The hungry look is intensifying. Yes, Jacob thinks, definitely not my imagination.

“How about we work together? Join forces. Conglomerate.”

There’s a long silence while Roth’s eyes narrow. He leans forward slowly, until their faces are inches apart. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. But what, exactly, would you get from this arrangement?”

Jacob deliberately looks Roth up and down, really working his best slow smile. “I can think of some advantages.” Then he suddenly huffs, leaning backwards into his chair. “Besides, this whole thing is a lot more work than I’d expected. I thought it would be a lark, you know, being the boss? But it’s actually just a lot of filing and accounting and I’m bloody sick of the lot of it. Would be nice to be able to hand that off to someone else.”

Roth slowly rises then, pulling an expensive looking bottle of liquor out of a cabinet. “To a mutually beneficial arrangement, then.”

Jacob follows, accepting a glass and softly laying a hand on Roth’s cheek, tracing the scar that bisects his face. “To a mutually beneficial arrangement.” So simple, Jacob thinks. It's helpful that the man clearly wants to believe that this is happening. With his focus completely drawn in that direction, he doesn't even notice when Jacob slips a sedative in his glass. 

\---

When Jacob steps back into the hallway, Wynert is leaning against the panelled wood.

Jacob shoots him a thumbs up. “Where’s the butler fellow?”

“His name is Lewis, and he’s busy. The less we share, the better- which, by the way, is why I’m not asking why you’ve decided on this insanity. Roth?”

“Out cold,” Jacob says. “You get to work, I’m gonna find a bedroom and undress him. Leave a sexy note, some empty bottles, and a few bruises. Hopefully he’ll just think he had the time of his life-”

Wynert suppresses a delicate shudder, which Jacob ignores.

“- and if he doesn’t, well, I don’t actually care. If I get my way, he's going to have other things on his mind anyway. See you in fifteen.”

When Jacob makes it back downstairs, Wynert is plugged into Roth’s computer, fingers rapidly flying along the keyboard. Ignoring him, Jacob begins to make his way around the room, first focusing on the bookshelves, then the fireplace, then spaces along the wall.

Wynert interrupts him without looking up from the computer. “Do you really think he would hide things in here? I would definitely opt for a warehouse or somewhere a bit more secure.”

Jacob shakes his head. “Does Maxwell Roth really look like the trusting sort to you? No, he’ll want everything somewhere nice and close, where he can keep an eye on it.”

“You’re the boss,” Wynert grunts.

Jacob feels a grin begin to form when a latch suddenly clicks under his fingers behind a portrait, and the panel swings forward to reveal a safe. A biometric panel is on the door, obviously requiring a retinal scan and fingerprint.

Wynert raises his eyebrows. “Well, I’ll be damned. Now what? Are you going to take whatever’s in there?”

Swinging around to frown at Wynert, Jacob quickly shakes his head. “Don’t be mad, of course not. No, I’m just going to spread it around a bit- providing that some of it is heroin, which I’m pretty sure it should be- and make sure it’s clearly visible from outside.” Just cause for entry and whatnot.

“You’re… What?”

“And then we’re going to wait until midnight.”

If Wynert’s eyebrows went any higher, they would lift clear off his face. “Midnight? Why midnight?”

Because midnight is the shift change at the Yard, and Freddy works nights on Thursdays. “No reason.”

“All right… What happens at midnight?”

“We leave. You take everything you find straight to Evie, and you two work out why Roth is working with Starrick.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, okay, I set fire to the bins outside and smash a window and then we leave once we’ve made sure that someone calls 999.”

There’s a long beat of silence where they look at each other. Then, with a shrug, Wynert turns back to his computer.

Starting to feel giddy, Jacob runs up to go retrieve Roth’s limp form for the scanner. Hang on, Freddy, he thinks- I’ve got Detective Inspector in the _bag_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob Frye, Honeypot: Vol. 2. 
> 
> Roth's relationship with Jacob looks a bit different in my head when Jacob is already fully aware of (and embracing) his bisexual inclinations. IF ya know what I mean. Unf. 
> 
> On an unrelated note, if you don't know what the Great British Bake Off is, you're seriously missing out. It was [**the most watched show in the UK in 2015**](http://www.bbc.co.uk/newsbeat/article/35118773/the-great-british-bake-off-most-watched-tv-show-in-2015), so it packs a serious cultural punch. 
> 
> The newest season also just started. So if you ARE a fan, please comment so we can be excited about it together. It's biscuits next week! There will be gingerbread houses! WHAT COULD BE BETTER THERE IS LITERALLY NOTHING


	7. Chapter 7

Henry’s flat is much nicer than the one that Evie shares with Jacob.

To start with, someone has actually replaced the carpets since the building first went up, and it even has a lovely garden for residents. There’s a lift in addition to the stairs. It turns out that Henry has an eye for clean lines and basic colours, leaving the place feeling tidy and welcoming.

He’s still sound asleep when Evie wakes up, blinking against the morning light. Propping herself up with a yawn, she lets herself enjoy the view for a moment, savouring the curve of Henry’s shoulders and the dip of his back as it disappears under the sheets.

When she called him last night, it had mostly been to complain about the piece. Or, at least, that was what she told herself as she waited for him to pick up.

Just to talk, she had said, as he invited her over to hash it out. Purely professional, she reminded herself, shimmying into a skirt and digging around for pretty knickers and her one pair of nice stockings. The whole time that she was on the Tube, she had rocked to the motion of the train, internally chanting _colleagues, colleagues, colleagues_.

In the event, they didn’t find the time to talk about much at all.

Oh well, she thinks, pulling on one of his big loose shirts and padding into the kitchen. She felt better, anyway, and that had sort of been the purpose of calling him in the first place. So mission accomplished on one level.

She wonders briefly if she can help herself to things in the kitchen. If it were just Henry, she probably would, but she has no way of knowing what belongs to him. His roommate is friendly enough, but she doesn’t think she knows him well enough to start drinking his milk. Alex is high strung in a mad-scientist sort of way, and she doesn’t really want to upset him.

When she goes back to the bedroom, debating waking Henry because she really _is_ rather hungry, she realizes that her mobile is blinking rapidly. The call is from an unknown number.

“Hello?” she says, settling onto the bed. Henry makes a muffled noise and curls towards her, trying to wrap an arm around her waist.

“Evie Frye?” A voice on the other end asks.

“Yes, speaking, who is this?”

“My name is Ned Wynert. I work with your brother; I don’t know if you remember me--”

Evie feels her throat constrict in panic. “Has something happened? Is Jacob--”

“He’s fine, he’s fine. Well, I mean, he’s as fine as he normally is.”

Fair enough, Evie thinks.

Ned continues on the other end of the line. “But I have something that I really think you’re going to want to see. Can we meet? Soon?”

\---

Before she can meet Ned- and Clara, who she’s invited along in the hope that she might have some insight- Evie stops by her flat for a change of clothes.

Fumbling with her keys, she’s just about inside when Bertha’s head pops out from the next door down. “Evie,” she calls out with a big smile, “I thought it might be you.”

“Good morning, Bertha,” Evie returns, hoping that this isn’t going to be a long chat. She’s called in to Starrick Financial to say that she’s going to be late so that she can meet Ned, but even so, she really needs to get moving. “Thank you so much for that cake, it was absolutely delicious. So delicious that I only got one piece because Jacob ate the rest when I wasn’t looking, actually. You really mustn’t keep spoiling us like that.”

She smiles. “Nonsense, I just want to know that you two are eating properly.”

“We do, thanks to you.”

“And now Agnes and I want to know when we’ll get to meet your new fellow, will you bring him over for dinner soon? Henry, right?”

Evie gapes at her. How in the world did she know--

And then she remembers. Oh, God, the walls in this building are thin, and the other night when he came over and- she’d had a bit to drink at the party and- she vaguely remembers being quite _vocal_ and oh no, no no no, this isn’t happening. “Bertha, I- I’m so sorry, I can’t even begin to- this is terribly humiliating. I’m so sorry.” She can feel herself turning beet red and she wants to hide her face at the thought of her lovely old neighbours forced to listen to- oh good God, to _that_.

Bertha just laughs and laughs. “Don’t worry- we remember what it was like!”

“But I--”

“Honestly, dear, it’s fine. We made a quite few neighbours upset in our day. Just bring him over so we can get a proper look at him, will you? Agnes and I think this is all rather exciting.”

\---

The coffee shop of Ned’s choice is a quiet place, with lots of walled-in booths that provide a relative measure of privacy.

Introductions between Clara and Ned finished, Ned pulls out his laptop and spins it around so that they can see the screen. “So, Roth's been arrested. This is from Roth’s computer,” he starts, “and what I have here is--”

Clara interrupts him almost immediately. “Wait, he's been arrested? Why do you have things from Roth’s computer?”

Ned shoots Evie a slightly guilty glance and she has to suppress a groan. Jacob’s rapid departure last night suddenly makes that much more sense. As he opens his mouth, Evie holds up a hand. “To be honest, if it isn't you or Jacob in trouble with the police, I’d rather not know.”

“Probably wise,” he concedes.

Clara looks back and forth at each of them and grins. “Fair enough- this is the best news I've had in weeks. As long as we’re sticking it to the bastard I don’t much care.”

Ned takes a long look at Clara as if he’s seeing her properly for the first time. “I agree.”

Clara shoots him a shy smile and Evie clears her throat loudly, suddenly feeling like a third wheel. “What did you find?”

“A lot of financial information that I’ll need to pass along to someone else before I can make heads or tales of it. What was interesting, though, was a series of blueprints that have a lot of edits on them. It looks to be some sort of impending construction project in a warehouse, and it was linked in his files for Starrick along with merger contracts.” He pulls them up. “It looks important, but I can’t figure out where it is.”

They all squint at it until Clara’s brow clears in recognition. “Hang on, that… I know where that is. I’ve walked by it. That’s next to Whitechapel Children headquarters.”

With a few clicks, Ned pulls up Google Earth. “Whitechapel Children?”

Clara nods. “Yes- my baby, or it used to be.” Her tone takes a bitter turn. “Until Starrick and Roth stepped in.”

Pulling up street view, the outside does seem to match the blueprints exactly. This time, it’s Ned’s turn to frown. "That address…” Spinning his computer back around, he types rapidly. “Yeah, I thought so. We do security for there. Although the owners rent out the building itself.”

Evie drums her fingers against the table. “So if Starrick Financial is merging with Attaway transport while Attaway is expanding internationally, and he’s personally taken over Whitechapel Children with Roth at the helm of his bullying, and with Roth vying to be in charge of security of a building next to Whitechapel children- one which, unless I’m very much mistaken, is being rented by someone associated with Starrick… What does all of that add up to?”

Clara’s voice becomes very quiet, barely audible above the music in the café. “I think it adds up to some kind of trafficking.”

“Trafficking?”

“Using children coming in and out of the country to carry- well, anything, but probably drugs- but with a place next to the charity itself for basing their operations so it won’t look suspicious.”

They sit around the table for a moment, stunned into silence at her suggestion. Clara is shaking slightly, and Ned shoots Evie a quick glance before he takes one of Clara’s hands, gripping it tightly.

“The problem,” he starts, “is that it’s a wild suggestion, and if it’s right, we’ll need some sort of proof.”

Evie chews on her lip. “I highly doubt that I can get access to Starrick’s office again, everything will be locked up tight. And I have no idea how we’d get close to Attaway.”

Clara takes a deep breath and thoughtfully traces circles on the edge of her mug. “You know, there is one other person, someone who’s close to all of this and has access to everything we need.”

They turn to her, brows furrowed.

Clara thins her lips. “You’re not going to like it.”

\---

Things are tense when Evie gets to work. Roth’s arrest must have reached the ears of the higher-ups, because anxiety levels are running high in the office. Even employees who likely have no idea about the relationship between Starrick Financial and Alhambra Security are keeping their eyes down as they move around, trying to stay out of the line of fire.

Steeling herself with a sigh, Evie goes to find Thorne.

Thorne looks like she hasn’t slept properly. Dark circles ring her eyes and there’s even a tinge of red in them like she’s been crying; if Thorne wasn’t generally such a horrible human being, Evie might even have felt sorry for her.

“Miss Thorne?” she approaches cautiously, clearing her throat. “I mean, er- Lucy?”

Thorne looks up, usual irritation replaced with desperation. Starrick must be in a _foul_ mood. “Yes?” she says, sounding tired. “If you’ve caused a problem, I really can’t deal with it at the moment--”

“No, no,” Evie reassures her. “I just- some friends and I are going out for a drink tonight, and I wondered if you wanted to come with us. We can go from work.”

The silence at these words is so complete that Evie starts to think that she’ll have to revert to the original plan of just stealing Thorne’s laptop from her bag somehow. Evie has seen how Thorne carries the computer to and from work every day, tucked inside her leather carrying case. But then there’s a burst of noise from the inner office as Starrick yells for Thorne to _get in here, now_ , and Evie sees something grudgingly shift in Thorne’s eyes. “I could use a drink,” she mutters quietly, reaching for a pen and notepad from under a pile of documents as she stands.

“Great,” Evie says, giving it her best fake smile. “I’ll come meet you when I’m done.”

Back at her desk, Evie scrolls through her mobile to STUPID BROTHER. Whether she likes it or not, if she’s going to do this properly, she’s going to need some help.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Clara/Ned appears! (Cled? Nara? ... Clynert?) Thankfully it's not spectacularly creepy because she's verrry much an adult here.
> 
> Don't mind me, I'll just be over here pairing up literally everyone, hum de dum


	8. Chapter 8

The precinct is fairly quiet when Jacob arrives. Graveyards shifts are the same everywhere; bleary eyes and steaming cups of coffee, people shuffling around and wishing they were in bed. He stops at the front desk and shoots the receptionist his most charming smile. “Hi, I’m looking for Sergeant Abberline?”

She reaches for her phone. “I’ll call him out--”

“Nah, I know the way. Can I go through?”

When Jacob finds him, Freddy has the feverish look of a man on a mission, his hands clicking along his computer furiously. He’s surrounded by empty stained mug cups and his tie is coming loose. 

Jacob clears his throat when he doesn’t look up. “Wotcher, Freddy.”

Freddy nearly jumps out of his skin and knocks a cup off of his desk in the process. “Oh, I- shit,” he says, leaning down to collect the glass shards. “Sorry- what- Jacob? Why are you here?”

“Heard you’ve arrested one Maxwell Roth.”

Freddy’s eyes narrow. “Ah, yes. Is this about the note on the bedside table upstairs? ‘Had a great time, see you soon, Jacob F. xxx’? I thought it was too big of a coincidence at the time, but now I feel like I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Ah, fuck. He’d completely forgotten about the note. “Yeah, I can explain that--”

“Explain what?” Freddy goes back to typing at his computer, face blank. “You’re a free agent.”

“C’mon, Freddy--”

Freddy clears his throat loudly. “ _Sergeant_ Abberline.”

This is getting him nowhere. He scoots around the edge of Freddy’s desk until he can perch on the side, leaning down until he can force Freddy to make eye contact. “Look, I need to talk to you. It’s about Roth. It’s important. It’s relevant. Please?”

Freddy is caving, he can see it, so he cheats and leans in a little closer. “Please?”

“Fine,” Freddy finally says, jerking his head towards the back door. “Outside.”

Freddy grabs his coat and they shuffle out the back, the alley illuminated by the one flickering lamp above the door. “So,” Jacob starts. “You want to arrest that douche, right?”

“Is this some sort of revenge for a bad one night stand?”

“For shit’s sake- Freddy, we didn’t _do_ anything. I just drugged him so I could search his house.”

Freddy blinks. “What?”

“I mean, he would’ve been more than happy to think something happened, which is why I left the note- sort of hoping he’d just assume he drank too much.”

Freddy is starting to look like he has a headache coming on. “Are you serious?”

“He let me in willingly, to be fair. That means it’s okay, right?”

“… Unless you’re a vampire, no, that’s not how it works.”

“Look, either way, he’s up to some bad shit. He’s in league with the guy that Evie’s been investigating- you remember that conversation?” Not that Jacob particularly wanted to replay that chat, his humiliating confession about the kiss with Attaway fresh in his mind. “Yeah, so, this guy is involved. Anyway, I knew you were working tonight, so I--”

Freddy puts a hand up to silence Jacob. There’s a long pause while he looks like he’s thinking, and then he shifts his hand to cover his eyes and groans. “The smashed windows? The 999 call?”

“Yeah, that--”

“No, seriously, shut up, do not say another word. Don’t say it out loud. Especially not here.”

Jacob fidgets, hooking his thumbs into his pockets. “Gotcha.”

Taking a deep breath, Freddy lowers his hand to frown at Jacob. “Why? Why does it matter that I was working tonight?”

Because I’m looking for literally any reason to talk to you again, Jacob thinks, trying to keep his face even. “I knew you’d do the job properly, and I thought you might be pleased.”

“That I might be… Pleased…”

“It would be a good arrest, right?”

“Well, I mean- yes, he’s been brought in a bunch of times but we had to let him go because we didn’t have enough evidence…” Freddy trails off, still frowning. “Jacob, is this meant to be a _gift?_ ”

Rocking back and forth on his heels a bit, Jacob looks up at the lone lamp. For once, he’s finding it a bit hard to come up with the words. “Maybe?” Freddy’s still not saying anything, so he clears his throat. “I know you said that you needed space and I know I’ve been a total prat but I kind of, I don’t know, I thought that maybe if I helped you out with something that means a lot to you- and I mean, you still can have all the space you need, but if you were willing to have me back, I promise I won’t be a dickhead about things again- I’m absolutely serious about nothing happening with Roth, because how could it when he’s not a patch on you--”

 _Rambling again_ , that voice mutters. _Never could quit while you’re ahead_.

Freddy holds up a hand again to stop his words. “Jacob,” he says slowly. “This is completely, utterly insane.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jacob braces for rejection.

“… And, it’s also one of the nicest things that anyone has ever done for me.”

He pops an eye open and sees Freddy who, against all of his expectations, is actually smiling. It looks a bit pained, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “It is?”

“It’s mental, and you’re mental, and please don’t do it ever again.” But with those words, he leans forward and presses his lips to Jacob’s. When he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “I wanted space because I wasn’t sure if you were actually as interested in me as I am in you. But if you’re willing to do this kind of insanity…”

“I am,” Jacob jumps in. “And more. And also I’ll return your texts from now on, I promise. I’m mad about you, I really am, I just got cold feet.”

Freddy is shaking his head. “Just maybe use your words, next time? Please, please don’t do anything crazier than you already have. _Please_. And for the love of God, stop breaking the law. It’s not that I’m not glad to have Roth in a holding cell with a pile of cocaine that he’s trying to explain away, but it’s a bad habit to get into.”

“I swear,” Jacob says, solemnly doing the sign of the cross. “Oh, actually, wait- I will need to, uh, work around the law one more time. And I was kind of hoping you would help, actually.”

\---

Evie’s picked a noisy pub in Southwark, one filled with music and yelled conversations. Jacob is frankly impressed that she’s managed to find a table on a Friday night, but then, Evie’s always been good with sweet talking people and getting what she wants.

He finally spots her sitting in a corner booth, waving him over. The sour faced woman next to her can only be the infamous Lucy Thorne.

“Hey,” he calls out, making his way across with Freddy following behind. He slides into the other side of the booth and grimaces at them. “Sorry, had to wait for three trains at Waterloo. Also,” he gestures a little awkwardly, “this is Freddy. My boyfriend,” he says, only hesitating for a moment before he adds the words.

Evie’s smile is just a little bit too knowing. “Lovely to finally meet you, Freddy.”

Jacob sneaks a look at Freddy, and to his delight, Freddy is _glowing_. It’s a shy glow, one that no one else would probably even realize as Freddy’s equivalent of singing and throwing confetti. But it’s there nonetheless, and it makes Jacob happy down to the tips of his toes.

For his part, Freddy hadn’t exactly been pleased when he learned about Operation Steal Thorne’s Laptop. Luckily, news of potential child trafficking had helped him to overcome his legal qualms. Showing more moxie than Jacob expected (again), he had finally rolled his eyes and said that he would go along but absolutely disavow them if things went south.

Which worked for Jacob. Wynert was nowhere to be found, and Evie was strict about at least bringing along one other person to not arouse suspicion. Who could be better?

Leaning back as Evie and Freddy shake hands, he takes the chance to eye Thorne. She definitely looks like she’s already had a few drinks; there’s a half-empty wine bottle on the table and a clear flush rising high in her cheeks.

Evie cranes her neck around. “I’ve ordered some appies, but I don’t know what’s happened… I think I’ll go ask.” She subtly motions to Jacob, who coughs and mumbles something about needing a piss.

Once they’ve rounded a corner, she starts hissing instructions. “I cancelled the order and told the waiter we needed more time, I wanted more time for us to drink before she gets any food. She’s already on her way, so just keep it going, okay? Then I just need to look for a chance to take her purse to the loos, I have a USB key and I’m 99% sure I know her password because she uses ‘ShroudOfEden’ for literally everything else. No idea what it means.”

“Make sure she drinks. Keep her distracted while you get the laptop. Got it.”

They bump fists and he heads back to the table.

\---

Everything goes according to plan, for the most part. Thorne is already practically falling over by the time the food eventually does arrive, and that was before Jacob announced that shots were in order to celebrate Freddy’s recent success.

“What success?” Thorne slurs.

“I work at-” Freddy starts, before Jacob elbows him sharply in his side. Thorne doesn’t need to be reminded about Roth’s arrest.

“Freddy’s a clockmaker,” Jacob says. “Niche trade. Fixes gears and shit.”

“That’s interesting,” Thorne mumbles.

Evie picks that moment to clear her throat and say that she needs a quick trip to the toilets, shooting a significant look at Jacob. He nods and watches as she subtly pulls Thorn’s bag along, tucking it under her arm before she disappears into the crowd.

“So,” he says to Thorne. “Freddy gets to work for himself. Wouldn’t that be the dream?”

“Don’t I know it,” she says, gaze dropping. “I work for the biggest gaping dickhole in the world.”

Freddy gives her hand a sympathetic pat. “That bad, eh?”

She grimaces. “You have no idea. He’s constantly making unreasonable demands, and his emails are completely incomprehensible. He couldn’t be less clear if he tried.”

They both make sympathetic noises.

“Here, let me show you, they’re on my phone. They’re fucking unbelievable” she says, and to Jacob’s horror, she starts to reach for her bag. “Wait, where…”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Evasive action required. Jacob sticks his leg out and a passing waiter trips, sending a tray of drinks cascading to the floor.

There’s a high pitched shriek from the next booth, and a woman is standing, soaked through. “How dare you,” she says, “this dress is _designer_ -”

“Hey,” Jacob says, standing up and waving. “Hey, so sorry, don’t blame him, my fault, so sorry--”

Her chav of a boyfriend stands up, revealing an unexpectedly burly set of shoulders, and shoots him a filthy look. “You owe my girl a new dress.”

“Let’s be reasonable,” Jacob says, holding his hands up. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see how Thorne is now watching the unfolding scene with rapt attention, completely distracted from the missing purse.

“Reasonable, my ass, this is your fault!”

“Come on, man, it’s not even that nice of a dress anyway.”

The woman makes a screeching noise and the man stomps over, sticking his finger in Jacob’s chest. “You take that back, asshole.”

Jacob pushes back against him, standing up and squaring his shoulders. “Call ‘em like I see ‘em, _so_ sorry.”

When the man grabs Jacob’s drink, Jacob ducks just in time, the liquid sloshing over onto the cricket team celebrating at the next table over.

As Freddy stands to rush to Jacob’s aid, the cricket team roars and leaps up, followed by the rest of the screechy woman’s gang of friends. Someone screams “PUB BRAWL” and everything descends into chaos.

\---

Two dickheads, three cricket team members and one solid punch to his ribcage later, Jacob sees Evie fighting her way back to their table. She looks exasperated- probably at him, it’s a familiar look- but triumphant all the same. That’s his cue for calling it a night, he thinks, so he finds Freddy and drags him out of the scrum towards the exit.

They take off at a sprint down the sidewalk, waiting until they’re a few blocks away to duck into an alleyway.

“Oh my God,” Freddy says, hands on his knees, wheezing. “I should give myself an ASBO for that.”

Jacob can’t help but giggle a little. “Don’t worry, there was so much chaos, you can defend yourself from yourself by saying you got trapped in the fray. And hey, you were in top form back there.” He gives Freddy a little punch in the shoulder. “You just got even hotter.”

Freddy starts to laugh as well, leaning back against the alley wall. “This is mad. That was mad. You’re mad. And _I’m_ mad for being in love with you.” He stops short and clears his throat, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I mean--”

Rounding on him, Jacob pins Freddy to the wall with his body, face nearly hurting from the wideness of his grin. “You’d better mean exactly what you said, because you’ll break my heart if you didn’t.”

Freddy is turning pink. “Well,” he says, with a cough, “can’t have that.”

“Hopefully I don’t have to break and enter anywhere else to prove I love you too.”

“Oh, God, please don’t.”

“See? I can learn to use my words.”

Kissing Freddy is as fun as it’s ever been, and Jacob is suddenly wondering if it’s dark enough that he could get away with giving that surprise blowjob after all.

\---

Jacob practically bounces back to the flat, resisting the urge to Charleston along the sidewalk. He expects Evie to be asleep, but instead she’s perched at their table, illuminated only by the glow of her laptop.

He tuts at her and flicks on the lights. “I thought you said sitting in the dark was bad for your eyes.”

“Mm,” she says absently.

“So did you find everything you needed?”

There’s a grim set to her brow. “And more. If I want to justify not handing this over to the police straightaway, I think I have to publish immediately. I’ve already phoned Henry- he’s moving heaven and earth to try and get me a big headline space tomorrow.” She looks at her watch. “If I can just finish this in the next half hour, I should make it.”

He avoids her after that, tiptoeing around the flat, listening to the occasional bursts of furious typing.

When she finally slumps back, he dares to speak. “All done?”

“Done,” she agrees, triumphant note clear in her voice.

“Excellent!” he hops to his feet. “I think this calls for a drink.”

“More drinking?”

“It’s a celebration!”

Three beers later, she’s leaning across the table to pat him absent-mindedly on the head. “Thanks for helping me tonight, baby bro.”

“Evie, I’m four minutes younger than you.”

“Like I said. Baby bro. My adorable baby bro. Who now has an equally adorable _boyfriend_. When was the last time you had a boyfriend? When we were 16?”

He sighs and takes another swig of his beer. “Fuck off.”

“Seriously, though.” She stands and leans to press a sticky kiss to his forehead. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles, embarrassed at the open display of affection. “I’m cutting you off now. Come on, no more- yeah, I know, don’t moan,” he says, moving the bottle out of her reach. “Bed now, big day tomorrow.”

That seems to clear her head a little, and she takes a deep breath. “Don’t answer the door to any lawyers.”

“I won’t. Now, off with you. Don’t make me be the responsible one, this is embarrassing for everyone involved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some may find Freddy's acceptance of Jacob's unorthodox gift a little out of character. But in my mind, this is a man who was working with Henry as an Assassin and accepted help from two clearly rogue agents to help track down criminals by any means necessary in AC Syndicate. So I don't think he's beyond a little extra-judicial shenanigans as long as it gets to the right place in the end. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it. FIGHT ME.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue: Part Evie. 
> 
> Would y'all like some fluff so sweet it makes your teeth hurt? Of course you would.

**BBC News, London**

The Serious Fraud Office has launched an investigation following allegations of corruption and insider trading in Starrick Financial UK Ltd.

The company is rumoured to have been poised on the brink of a merger with Attaway Transport, the recent recipient of government contracts for railway expansion.

Ahead of the merger, CEO Crawford Starrick has been accused of using shell corporations through an associate- named as one Maxwell Roth- to buy up company stock before its impending dramatic increase in value.

Starrick could not be reached for comment.

Follow us on twitter for further updates.

\---

The phone won’t stop ringing off the hook. Evie has half a mind to just turn the damned thing off and deal with the consequences later, but some of them are from important people at the paper. People that she can’t afford to ignore.

She had known that coming back to the office wouldn’t be easy, but she had never envisioned it being quite this bad.

There’s a knock at the door around 11, and just as she steels herself for another uncomfortable confrontation, Henry’s face pops into the frame. Thank God.

“I brought coffee,” he says, holding it out towards her with a smile. “I had a feeling that you might need it.” The man is an absolute angel, she’s sure of it.

She takes the coffee and grimaces at him. “Starrick is suing absolutely everything in reach. The higher ups are thrilled about the uptick in sales but only too willing to throw me under the bus for the cost of it.”

“It’ll blow over,” he says confidently. “I’ve already told them so. This is just a lull until law enforcement moves in; that bastard’s going to have a lot more on his hands in no time at all.”

Sipping the coffee, she leans back and closes her eyes. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am." He moves around to rub her shoulders, tense and sore from hours of stress. Definitely an angel. "Just wait and see.”

\---

The text comes as it always does: anonymously.

 

**BLOCKED NUMBER**

 

**21:30. The Blues Kitchen.**

 

When she finds Topping, he’s standing against the counter and holding a ridiculously dainty looking drink. He folds her into a hug when he sees her and helps her onto a bar stool with a delicate “milady”.

Once they’re comfortably seated, he has to yell over the music to be heard. “Wonderful article in the paper this morning!”

“Thank you,” she yells back. “I have to ask- why didn’t you tell me about everything _other_ than the insider trading?”

He looks surprised. “I didn’t know! I don’t know everything, though I’m flattered that you think so.” Evie has the feeling that he’s not telling the whole truth, but she knows from previous attempts that she’s not going to get more out of him.

She holds her drink up to him. “Either way, as always, thank you for your intel!”

He salutes her. “Pleasure is all mine, m’dear!”

\---

 

[HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU: AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

 

Armstrong: And now, for points, can anyone tell me what this is an image of? _[Camera cuts to photograph of a handcuffed Crawford Starrick looking furious and being led to a police car.]_

Merton: It’s the mixed-bag prize of winning the World’s Most Fabulous Moustache competition?

_[audience laughter]_

Armstrong: It is rather magnificent, isn’t it?

Widdecomb: It’s a modern take on the villain-ties-damsel-to-train-tracks scenario. He’s saying, “I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for those damned kids!”

_[audience laughter]_

Merton: He definitely has the look of a panto villain.

Hislop: Is it… The beginning of a _very_ elaborate roleplay? Something kinky, that the kids are into these days.

_[audience laughter]_

Armstrong: With multiple people involved? There’s a whole crowd there.

Hislop: It sounds like he’s got enough money to hire a whole circus troupe of prostitutes if he wanted. Why stop at one?

_[audience laughter]_

Armstrong: Now, can anyone tell me what this photo is actually of?

Merton: It’s an arrest of- that business fellow. Crawford something. Corruption in the banking business, can you imagine?

_[audience laughter]_

Armstrong: Yes, that is correct; points to the Merton-Widdecomb team. This is the story that following allegations of corruption, businessman Crawford Starrick has been arrested on charges of not only insider trading, but also for involvement in human trafficking and drug trafficking…

\---

It turns out that Henry is a closeted fan of _Strictly_ , so watching dancers in glittery costumes and garish makeup has become a part of Evie’s Sunday television routine. She’s cradled in Henry’s arms, finishing off the greasy curry chips from their dinner, when he clears his throat.

“Alex is moving out,” he says, sounding determinedly casual, eyes fixed on the whirling figures on the screen.

She cranes around to look at him. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, he’s just moved jobs and needs a place that gives him less of a commute.” He won’t quite meet her eyes, bless him. “I’m in the market for a new roommate.”

Evie feels the corner of her lips twitch. “How inconvenient for you,” she chirps. “I hope you find someone.” Every now and then she reminds herself more of Jacob than she’d like to think.

He sighs. “You aren’t going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She just pops another chip in her mouth and shoots him a grin. “ _No_ idea what you're talking about.”

\---

The reality, of course, is that as much as she would love to move in with Henry, she can’t make any decisions without talking to Jacob first. When she comes back, he’s sprawled on the sofa in a ratty pair of pants, giant bowl of popcorn balanced on his stomach while he clicks away on his console.

He yelps when she flicks the light on. “Jesus! I thought you’d be staying at Greenie’s- fuck, hang on, let me find some clothes, _don’t look_ \--”

With a sigh, she turns while he scrambles around in the background.

“Ready,” he says, and when she turns back she sees that he’s resumed doing the exactly the same thing with the addition of trousers. “Why are you back? Lover’s spat?”

Sitting on the sofa next to him, she moves the precariously perched bowl of popcorn and makes him pause the game. “Look, I need to talk to you. Henry’s roommate is leaving, and he’s invited me to move in.”

“Wow,” he says. “You two don’t really don’t fuck about, do you? You’ve been dating for, what, two weeks? Promise you'll name the first kid after me. Even if it's a girl. Actually, no, especially if it's a girl.”

Don’t blush, she tells herself. Don’t blush, damn it. “It’s- I mean- we’ve been friends for so long, so it’s hardly- anyway, that doesn’t matter, okay? What matters is that I’m not going to leave you in the lurch, so maybe we can put out some feelers about finding a roommate for here--”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, but she can tell that he’s already ignoring her, pulling out his mobile and stabbing at it with his index finger. She’s in the middle of opening her mouth to huff at him when he puts the phone up to his ear. “Hi, Freddy? Yeah, guess what? I’m homeless!”

Sighing, she leans back into the couch and listens to him babble happily. The voice on the other end sounds a bit concerned, but Jacob is getting more cheerful by the moment.

If she had to guess, it means he'll probably have a place to live fairly soon.

When he turns away and she knows he can’t see her, she closes her eyes and allows a small indulgent smile at his happiness. Who knows? Maybe things will all fall together perfectly after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some errands to run in London recently, and I literally can't go into the city at all without thinking about Jacob and Evie running around in it. This game has destroyed me.
> 
> Also, in case anyone was feeling a bit skeptical about the set-up for Evie and her breakthrough story, the mayor of Dover recently made headlines for [**snorting cocaine in a public toilet**](http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/08/31/mayor-of-dover-caught-snorting-line-of-white-powder-off-a-toilet/). So, you know, there's that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue: Part Jacob. 
> 
> AKA more fluff, so fluffy that it'll get everywhere and into everything and you'll have to pull out the hoover to chase it down. 
> 
> Warning for sexual content- starting right after the reference to Great British Bake Off and continuing until the next text break, if you want to skip.

Moving Evie out takes almost no time. Even though they’ve lived in the flat for years, they’re both fairly Spartan when it comes to decorating. Jacob offers to help, but in the event, spends most of the afternoon drinking and teasing Greenie.  

It’s not Jacob’s fault that Greenie blushes like a stop sign at the slightest innuendo. Who could resist that kind of temptation? No one, that’s who.  

Beyond the teasing, though, Jacob can see the way that Evie smiles at Greenie when she thinks that no one is looking. Even more importantly, Greenie smiles at Evie  _constantly_ , even when he knows that everyone is looking. It’s sappy and sort of sickening but Jacob figures he can endure it, as long as Evie is happy. If she ever comes to him in tears, though, Greenie is going to wake up in Blackpool with no wallet and no shoes. 

If it was quick to move Evie out, it takes even less time for him to move his own stuff. He’s hardly going to take the sofa, and Freddy has a much nicer tv. That doesn’t leave much.  

When he first told Evie that he was planning to move into Freddy’s place, he had expected a bit of resistance. It was fast, after all, and Freddy’s distance meant a greatly increased commute time. Or, in other words, a greatly increased likelihood that Jacob would be late to things, and he isn’t exactly punctual to begin with.   

Instead, she just shrugged. “I think that’s a good idea.”  

That threw him for a bit of a loop, mostly because it was so unusual. When pressed, she just smiled and said that Jacob seemed happy- and that if he was happy, she was happy.  

Which, as far as Jacob was concerned, was all rather suspicious.  

\--- 

On the first night that Jacob moves in, he and Freddy order pizza to celebrate.  

They’re two slices and one beer in when Jacob finally works up the courage to start a serious discussion. “I’m paying rent,” he says to Freddy firmly, brandishing his slice like a weapon.   

Freddy just frowns at him. “But I don’t pay rent. I don’t even pay a mortgage. My Mother owned this house, there hasn’t been a mortgage on the place since 1982.”  

“That doesn’t matter. It’s the principle of the thing.”  

“Jacob, this place was too big for me before. It’ll honestly be great to have you here- I was almost thinking about letting it out to a family and finding a flat in the city, it was getting that bad.”  

“Don’t care,” Jacob says, talking around a mouthful of pizza. “It’s about my pride.”  

“But--” 

“Just take my money, goddamnit. Save it and spend it on something nice, I don’t know.”  

Leaning back and rubbing his chin, Freddy swirls his beer. “I  _have_  always wanted to go to Australia.”  

Jacob makes a mental note to cross that off of his list of things that Freddy likes that he can provide, which is now tucked in the bottom of his sock drawer. He’s still working on the  _Great British Bake Off_ , but he’ll think of something.  

\--- 

“Blowjobs” has been crossed off the list so many times that the word is barely even visible under the lines of ink. The more surprising, the better, as far as Jacob’s concerned.  

It quickly becomes a bit of a game for him. The objective: trying to see how many things he can distract Freddy from.  

Morning crossword? Check. Getting ready for work? Check. Phone calls? Check. Shaving? Check. Evening paperwork? Check. (That one’s easy.) He even once manages to get away with pulling him away from gardening by waiting until Freddy was strategically tucked behind the shed. It was muddy but the added riskiness of being outdoors made it completely worth it.

This time, Freddy’s putting up some shelves. His brow is furrowed in concentration, some nails sticking out of his mouth as he shifts and makes a few brisk movements with the hammer. He looks focused and like he wouldn't appreciate being disrupted.  

Making it all the more tempting, of course.  

It’s easy enough to sneak up behind him, slide his arms around Freddy’s midriff, and move his hips against Freddy's in a slow grind, given that Freddy’s hands are so fully occupied. Freddy makes a squeaking sound and nearly drops the hammer. Adorable.  

Sliding around, Jacob quickly pulls the front of Freddy’s trousers open and yanks down his pants, peppering kisses down the front of his chest and stomach as he gets down on his knees.  

“For God’s sake,” Freddy moans, but his protests are becoming weaker by the second. “I don't understand why you always wait until I’m- let a man focus sometimes.”  

Jacob puts on his best hurt face. “You can't possibly mean that.” When Freddy just looks at him, eyes wide and colour high in his cheeks, Jacob licks a long stripe up from the base of Freddy’s rapidly hardening cock right up until the end, repeating until Freddy starts to shake, breath coming out in pants.  

“That's what I thought,” Jacob mutters smugly, wrapping his lips around the tip, smiling as Freddy’s fingers tangle tightly in his hair. He quickly fumbles with his own jeans, tugging his pants down so he can take himself in hand.  

“No,” Freddy says suddenly, yanking on his hair.  

When Jacob pulls away with a pop, confused, Freddy back-pedals. “Don’t stop that, I mean, don’t- don’t touch yourself. Don’t you dare. You keep doing that, and I never get to do anything. So don’t.” 

Bossy Freddy- that's new, Jacob thinks. And hot. He gets back to work with renewed enthusiasm, taking Freddy as deep and as hard as he can, opening his throat as much as possible. He lets Freddy set the pace that he wants, rumbling encouraging noises and lathing his tongue until Freddy’s movements become erratic and broken, curling his fingers deeply into Freddy’s hips as he feels the salty liquid hit his throat.  

He’s about to get up and try and pad over to the kitchen to get some water when he hears Freddy mumble “get back here”. Refractory period be damned, he drags Jacob down and pushes him over onto his back, and then there’s a palm firmly on his stomach holding him in place and Jacob feels Freddy’s hands and finally his hot, wet mouth and Jesus Christ that feels good--  

Moving in was a  _great_  idea.  

\---  

His workday quickly goes from standard to spectacular when Jacob walks by Wynert and sees him staring intently at a smiling selfie of a young woman with dark hair and bright eyes.  

It’s a matter of seconds before Jacob nimbly plucks the mobile out of Wynert’s hands, easily lifting it to hold it out of reach. “Who’s this, Wynert? She looks too pretty for you.”  

“Fuck off.”  

“No, seriously, though, who is it? Not another escort, I hope?”  

“For God’s sake, why would you- I’ve never- I- look, her name is Clara, and she runs a charity. If you  _must_  know.” He pauses, looking more flustered than Jacob thinks he’s ever seen in all his years of working with Wynert. “Your sister introduced us.”  

Jacob tilts the picture. “Did she!” He makes a mental note to ask Evie for details later, because this is too good. “So is it serious?”  

Wynert starts to go red, which Jacob definitely hasn’t ever seen before. And it’s enough of an answer on its own, really. Wynert fruitlessly reaches for the phone again, hilariously out of reach when measured up against Jacob’s height. “Seriously, fuck off.”  

Making a show of studying the picture, Jacob whistles. “I never thought you’d actually find someone smaller than you.”  

Wynert is pink to the top of his brow. “I swear to God, Frye--”  

Tossing the phone back to him, Jacob laughs when Wynert flips him the bird. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but she looks too good for you.”  

He’s almost around the corner when he hears Wynert quietly mutter “don’t I know it.”  

\---  

“I’ve got some good news,” Freddy yells from the front hallway, shaking the rain off his hat and coat.  

Jacob leans around the corner and grins. “You’re pregnant!”  

Freddy looks back with the best sort of adorable frown, the one that’s a cross between bemusement and patience. Jacob’s favourite.  

Jacob’s been doing his level best to win a Good Roommate award by cooking when he can, and at the moment, he’s working on a pasta sauce. So far, he’s only gotten distracted and wandered away once. That, combined with his lucky ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, has him pretty certain that this one is going to be a winner.   

Freddy pads towards the kitchen. “I’m being moved to Homicide- and I’ve been reliably informed that there’s an opening for Inspector coming up soon. Given that I did as well as I did on my exam, I think I have reason to be hopeful.” He takes a spoonful of the sauce on the stove and, to Jacob’s delight, only wrinkles his nose very slightly.  

“Of course you do.” Jacob leans in to give him a peck. “You’re the best officer in the force.”  

“You have to think that. It’s like a mother thinking that their child is clever.”  

Jacob gives the sauce a stir and snorts. “My mother never thought I was clever. Handsome and funny, sure, but Evie got most of the clever in the family.”  

Freddy shoots him a smile that make his insides melt. “Well, she was wrong.” There’s a moment’s pause. “But maybe don’t tell her I said that.”  

“Trying to cozy up to the future in-laws?”  

Jacob doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until the words are out of his mouth, and his brain stutters to a stop in horror. Oh Jesus Christ, he thinks in a panic, we’ve only just moved in and I was the one that was freaking out about commitment until a few weeks ago, it’s like I’m a fucking fourteen-year-old girl, Holy Mother of God  _get a grip on yourself, man--_  

But Freddy just laughs. “Pretty much, yeah.”  

\--- 

 

 **KNOW-IT-ALL**  

 

 **So are you two still coming over for dinner?**  

 **Henry is cooking Thai food.**  

 **Bertha and Agnes have confirmed.**  

i dno do u have time now that ur so successful  

 **Don’t be** **silly** **.**  

 **H** **ow is it that you can type out “successful” but not “you”** **?**  

i hve my priorities 

 **Also, please let Freddy pick the wine.**  

do u not trust me 

 **No** **.**  

… ok fair nuff  

srsly tho 

saw ur article again 2day in news 

well done 

 **T** **hank yo** **u.**  

 good thing ur photo isnt in it tho 

would turn ppl rite off 

 **Are you serious?**  

 **Have you looked at your ugly mug lately?**  

 **Pot, kettle!**  

LOL 

c u 2nite 

 **See you then.**  

 **And Jacob?**  

? 

 **For just once in your life** **, try not to be late.**  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get a happy ending! And you get a happy ending! EVERYONE GETS A HAPPY ENDING
> 
> You know, looking back on my notes when I originally started writing this, I think I intended for it to be a much more serious piece. But then it descended into stupid one-liners and hijinks pretty immediately, and I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever. 
> 
> To everyone who diligently read and commented every chapter, you have made writing this SUCH a joy. I can't thank you enough. I always looked forward to your thoughts and did a little dance when I got an email notification about comments. 
> 
> If you've enjoyed this and haven't said hi yet, please do! I'd love to thank you for reading! Either here or [**on Tumblr**](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poethrotsvitha), where I go by the same name. 
> 
> <3


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